Rilla of Ingleside

by

Lucy Maud Montgomery

CONTENTS

 I GLEN "NOTES" AND OTHER MATTERS II DEW OF MORNING III MOONLIT MIRTH IV THE PIPER PIPES V "THE SOUND OF A GOING" VI SUSAN, RILLA, AND DOG MONDAY MAKE A RESOLUTION VII A WAR-BABY AND A SOUP TUREEN VIII RILLA DECIDES IX DOC HAS A MISADVENTURE X THE TROUBLES OF RILLA XI DARK AND BRIGHT XII IN THE DAYS OF LANGEMARCK XIII A SLICE OF HUMBLE PIE XIV THE VALLEY OF DECISION XV UNTIL THE DAY BREAK XVI REALISM AND ROMANCE XVII THE WEEKS WEAR BY XVIII A WAR-WEDDING XIX "THEY SHALL NOT PASS" XX NORMAN DOUGLAS SPEAKS OUT IN MEETING XXI "LOVE AFFAIRS ARE HORRIBLE" XXII LITTLE DOG MONDAY KNOWS XXIII "AND SO, GOODNIGHT" XXIV MARY IS JUST IN TIME XXV SHIRLEY GOES XXVI SUSAN HAS A PROPOSAL OF MARRIAGE XXVII WAITING XXVIII BLACK SUNDAY XXIX "WOUNDED AND MISSING" XXX THE TURNING OF THE TIDE XXXI MRS. MATILDA PITTMAN XXXII WORD FROM JEM XXXIII VICTORY! XXXIV MR. HYDE GOES TO HIS OWN PLACE AND SUSAN TAKES A HONEYMOON XXXV "RILLA-MY-RILLA!"

CHAPTER I

GLEN "NOTES" AND OTHER MATTERS

It was a warm, golden-cloudy, lovable afternoon. In the big living-roomat Ingleside Susan Baker sat down with a certain grim satisfactionhovering about her like an aura; it was four o'clock and Susan, who hadbeen working incessantly since six that morning, felt that she hadfairly earned an hour of repose and gossip. Susan just then wasperfectly happy; everything had gone almost uncannily well in thekitchen that day. Dr. Jekyll had not been Mr. Hyde and so had notgrated on her nerves; from where she sat she could see the pride of herheart--the bed of peonies of her own planting and culture, blooming asno other peony plot in Glen St. Mary ever did or could bloom, withpeonies crimson, peonies silvery pink, peonies white as drifts ofwinter snow. 

Susan had on a new black silk blouse, quite as elaborate as anythingMrs. Marshall Elliott ever wore, and a white starched apron, trimmedwith complicated crocheted lace fully five inches wide, not to mentioninsertion to match. Therefore Susan had all the comfortableconsciousness of a well-dressed woman as she opened her copy of theDaily Enterprise and prepared to read the Glen "Notes" which, as MissCornelia had just informed her, filled half a column of it andmentioned almost everybody at Ingleside. There was a big, blackheadline on the front page of the Enterprise, stating that someArchduke Ferdinand or other had been assassinated at a place bearingthe weird name of Sarajevo, but Susan tarried not over uninteresting, immaterial stuff like that; she was in quest of something really vital. Oh, here it was--"Jottings from Glen St. Mary. " Susan settled downkeenly, reading each one over aloud to extract all possiblegratification from it. 

Mrs. Blythe and her visitor, Miss Cornelia--alias Mrs. MarshallElliott--were chatting together near the open door that led to theveranda, through which a cool, delicious breeze was blowing, bringingwhiffs of phantom perfume from the garden, and charming gay echoes fromthe vine-hung corner where Rilla and Miss Oliver and Walter werelaughing and talking. Wherever Rilla Blythe was, there was laughter. 

There was another occupant of the living-room, curled up on a couch, who must not be overlooked, since he was a creature of markedindividuality, and, moreover, had the distinction of being the onlyliving thing whom Susan really hated. 

All cats are mysterious but Dr. Jekyll-and-Mr. Hyde--"Doc" forshort--was trebly so. He was a cat of double personality--or else, asSusan vowed, he was possessed by the devil. To begin with, there hadbeen something uncanny about the very dawn of his existence. Four yearspreviously Rilla Blythe had had a treasured darling of a kitten, whiteas snow, with a saucy black tip to its tail, which she called JackFrost. Susan disliked Jack Frost, though she could not or would notgive any valid reason therefor. 

"Take my word for it, Mrs. Dr. Dear, " she was wont to say ominously, "that cat will come to no good. "

"But why do you think so?" Mrs. Blythe would ask. 

"I do not think--I know, " was all the answer Susan would vouchsafe. 

With the rest of the Ingleside folk Jack Frost was a favourite; he wasso very clean and well groomed, and never allowed a spot or stain to beseen on his beautiful white suit; he had endearing ways of purring andsnuggling; he was scrupulously honest. 

And then a domestic tragedy took place at Ingleside. Jack Frost hadkittens!

It would be vain to try to picture Susan's triumph. Had she not alwaysinsisted that that cat would turn out to be a delusion and a snare? Nowthey could see for themselves!

Rilla kept one of the kittens, a very pretty one, with peculiarly sleekglossy fur of a dark yellow crossed by orange stripes, and large, satiny, golden ears. She called it Goldie and the name seemedappropriate enough to the little frolicsome creature which, during itskittenhood, gave no indication of the sinister nature it reallypossessed. Susan, of course, warned the family that no good could beexpected from any offspring of that diabolical Jack Frost; but Susan'sCassandra-like croakings were unheeded. 

The Blythes had been so accustomed to regard Jack Frost as a member ofthe male sex that they could not get out of the habit. So theycontinually used the masculine pronoun, although the result wasludicrous. Visitors used to be quite electrified when Rilla referredcasually to "Jack and his kitten, " or told Goldie sternly, "Go to yourmother and get him to wash your fur. "

"It is not decent, Mrs. Dr. Dear, " poor Susan would say bitterly. Sheherself compromised by always referring to Jack as "it" or "the whitebeast, " and one heart at least did not ache when "it" was accidentallypoisoned the following winter. 

In a year's time "Goldie" became so manifestly an inadequate name forthe orange kitten that Walter, who was just then reading Stevenson'sstory, changed it to Dr. Jekyll-and-Mr. Hyde. In his Dr. Jekyll moodthe cat was a drowsy, affectionate, domestic, cushion-loving puss, wholiked petting and gloried in being nursed and patted. Especially did helove to lie on his back and have his sleek, cream-coloured throatstroked gently while he purred in somnolent satisfaction. He was anotable purrer; never had there been an Ingleside cat who purred soconstantly and so ecstatically. 

"The only thing I envy a cat is its purr, " remarked Dr. Blythe once, listening to Doc's resonant melody. "It is the most contented sound inthe world. "

Doc was very handsome; his every movement was grace; his posesmagnificent. When he folded his long, dusky-ringed tail about his feetand sat him down on the veranda to gaze steadily into space for longintervals the Blythes felt that an Egyptian sphinx could not have madea more fitting Deity of the Portal. 

When the Mr. Hyde mood came upon him--which it invariably did beforerain, or wind--he was a wild thing with changed eyes. Thetransformation always came suddenly. He would spring fiercely from areverie with a savage snarl and bite at any restraining or caressinghand. His fur seemed to grow darker and his eyes gleamed with adiabolical light. There was really an unearthly beauty about him. Ifthe change happened in the twilight all the Ingleside folk felt acertain terror of him. At such times he was a fearsome beast and onlyRilla defended him, asserting that he was "such a nice prowly cat. "Certainly he prowled. 

Dr. Jekyll loved new milk; Mr. Hyde would not touch milk and growledover his meat. Dr. Jekyll came down the stairs so silently that no onecould hear him. Mr. Hyde made his tread as heavy as a man's. Severalevenings, when Susan was alone in the house, he "scared her stiff, " asshe declared, by doing this. He would sit in the middle of the kitchenfloor, with his terrible eyes fixed unwinkingly upon hers for an hourat a time. This played havoc with her nerves, but poor Susan reallyheld him in too much awe to try to drive him out. Once she had dared tothrow a stick at him and he had promptly made a savage leap towardsher. Susan rushed out of doors and never attempted to meddle with Mr. Hyde again--though she visited his misdeeds upon the innocent Dr. Jekyll, chasing him ignominiously out of her domain whenever he daredto poke his nose in and denying him certain savoury tidbits for whichhe yearned. 

"'The many friends of Miss Faith Meredith, Gerald Meredith and JamesBlythe, '" read Susan, rolling the names like sweet morsels under hertongue, "'were very much pleased to welcome them home a few weeks agofrom Redmond College. James Blythe, who was graduated in Arts in 1913, had just completed his first year in medicine. '"

"Faith Meredith has really got to be the most handsomest creature Iever saw, " commented Miss Cornelia above her filet crochet. "It'samazing how those children came on after Rosemary West went to themanse. People have almost forgotten what imps of mischief they wereonce. Anne, dearie, will you ever forget the way they used to carry on?It's really surprising how well Rosemary got on with them. She's morelike a chum than a step-mother. They all love her and Una adores her. As for that little Bruce, Una just makes a perfect slave of herself tohim. Of course, he is a darling. But did you ever see any child look asmuch like an aunt as he looks like his Aunt Ellen? He's just as darkand just as emphatic. I can't see a feature of Rosemary in him. NormanDouglas always vows at the top of his voice that the stork meant Brucefor him and Ellen and took him to the manse by mistake. "

"Bruce adores Jem, " said Mrs Blythe. "When he comes over here hefollows Jem about silently like a faithful little dog, looking up athim from under his black brows. He would do anything for Jem, I verilybelieve. "

"Are Jem and Faith going to make a match of it?"

Mrs. Blythe smiled. It was well known that Miss Cornelia, who had beensuch a virulent man-hater at one time, had actually taken tomatch-making in her declining years. 

"They are only good friends yet, Miss Cornelia. "

"Very good friends, believe me, " said Miss Cornelia emphatically. "Ihear all about the doings of the young fry. "

"I have no doubt that Mary Vance sees that you do, Mrs. MarshallElliott, " said Susan significantly, "but I think it is a shame to talkabout children making matches. "

"Children! Jem is twenty-one and Faith is nineteen, " retorted MissCornelia. "You must not forget, Susan, that we old folks are not theonly grown-up people in the world. "

Outraged Susan, who detested any reference to her age--not from vanitybut from a haunting dread that people might come to think her too oldto work--returned to her "Notes. "

"'Carl Meredith and Shirley Blythe came home last Friday evening fromQueen's Academy. We understand that Carl will be in charge of theschool at Harbour Head next year and we are sure he will be a popularand successful teacher. '"

"He will teach the children all there is to know about bugs, anyhow, "said Miss Cornelia. "He is through with Queen's now and Mr. Meredithand Rosemary wanted him to go right on to Redmond in the fall, but Carlhas a very independent streak in him and means to earn part of his ownway through college. He'll be all the better for it. "

"'Walter Blythe, who has been teaching for the past two years atLowbridge, has resigned, '" read Susan. "'He intends going to Redmondthis fall. '"

"Is Walter quite strong enough for Redmond yet?" queried Miss Corneliaanxiously. 

"We hope that he will be by the fall, " said Mrs. Blythe. "An idlesummer in the open air and sunshine will do a great deal for him. "

"Typhoid is a hard thing to get over, " said Miss Cornelia emphatically, "especially when one has had such a close shave as Walter had. I thinkhe'd do well to stay out of college another year. But then he's soambitious. Are Di and Nan going too?"

"Yes. They both wanted to teach another year but Gilbert thinks theyhad better go to Redmond this fall. "

"I'm glad of that. They'll keep an eye on Walter and see that hedoesn't study too hard. I suppose, " continued Miss Cornelia, with aside glance at Susan, "that after the snub I got a few minutes ago itwill not be safe for me to suggest that Jerry Meredith is makingsheep's eyes at Nan. "

Susan ignored this and Mrs. Blythe laughed again. 

"Dear Miss Cornelia, I have my hands full, haven't I?--with all theseboys and girls sweethearting around me? If I took it seriously it wouldquite crush me. But I don't--it is too hard yet to realize that they'regrown up. When I look at those two tall sons of mine I wonder if theycan possibly be the fat, sweet, dimpled babies I kissed and cuddled andsang to slumber the other day--only the other day, Miss Cornelia. Wasn't Jem the dearest baby in the old House of Dreams? and now he's aB. A. And accused of courting. "

"We're all growing older, " sighed Miss Cornelia. 

"The only part of me that feels old, " said Mrs. Blythe, "is the ankle Ibroke when Josie Pye dared me to walk the Barry ridge-pole in the GreenGables days. I have an ache in it when the wind is east. I won't admitthat it is rheumatism, but it does ache. As for the children, they andthe Merediths are planning a gay summer before they have to go back tostudies in the fall. They are such a fun-loving little crowd. They keepthis house in a perpetual whirl of merriment. "

"Is Rilla going to Queen's when Shirley goes back?"

"It isn't decided yet. I rather fancy not. Her father thinks she is notquite strong enough--she has rather outgrown her strength--she's reallyabsurdly tall for a girl not yet fifteen. I am not anxious to have hergo--why, it would be terrible not to have a single one of my babieshome with me next winter. Susan and I would fall to fighting with eachother to break the monotony. "

Susan smiled at this pleasantry. The idea of her fighting with "Mrs. Dr. Dear!"

"Does Rilla herself want to go?" asked Miss Cornelia. 

"No. The truth is, Rilla is the only one of my flock who isn'tambitious. I really wish she had a little more ambition. She has noserious ideals at all--her sole aspiration seems to be to have a goodtime. "

"And why should she not have it, Mrs. Dr. Dear?" cried Susan, who couldnot bear to hear a single word against anyone of the Ingleside folk, even from one of themselves. "A young girl should have a good time, andthat I will maintain. There will be time enough for her to think ofLatin and Greek. "

"I should like to see a little sense of responsibility in her, Susan. And you know yourself that she is abominably vain. "

"She has something to be vain about, " retorted Susan. "She is theprettiest girl in Glen St. Mary. Do you think that all thoseover-harbour MacAllisters and Crawfords and Elliotts could scare up askin like Rilla's in four generations? They could not. No, Mrs. Dr. Dear, I know my place but I cannot allow you to run down Rilla. Listento this, Mrs. Marshall Elliott. "

Susan had found a chance to get square with Miss Cornelia for her digsat the children's love affairs. She read the item with gusto. 

"'Miller Douglas has decided not to go West. He says old P. E. I. Is goodenough for him and he will continue to farm for his aunt, Mrs. AlecDavis. '"

Susan looked keenly at Miss Cornelia. 

"I have heard, Mrs. Marshall Elliott, that Miller is courting MaryVance. "

This shot pierced Miss Cornelia's armour. Her sonsy face flushed. 

"I won't have Miller Douglas hanging round Mary, " she said crisply. "Hecomes of a low family. His father was a sort of outcast from theDouglases--they never really counted him in--and his mother was one ofthose terrible Dillons from the Harbour Head. "

"I think I have heard, Mrs. Marshall Elliott, that Mary Vance's ownparents were not what you could call aristocratic. "

"Mary Vance has had a good bringing up and she is a smart, clever, capable girl, " retorted Miss Cornelia. "She is not going to throwherself away on Miller Douglas, believe me! She knows my opinion on thematter and Mary has never disobeyed me yet. "

"Well, I do not think you need worry, Mrs. Marshall Elliott, for Mrs. Alec Davis is as much against it as you could be, and says no nephew ofhers is ever going to marry a nameless nobody like Mary Vance. "

Susan returned to her mutton, feeling that she had got the best of itin this passage of arms, and read another "note. "

"'We are pleased to hear that Miss Oliver has been engaged as teacherfor another year. Miss Oliver will spend her well-earned vacation ather home in Lowbridge. '"

"I'm so glad Gertrude is going to stay, " said Mrs. Blythe. "We wouldmiss her horribly. And she has an excellent influence over Rilla whoworships her. They are chums, in spite of the difference in their ages. "

"I thought I heard she was going to be married?"

"I believe it was talked of but I understand it is postponed for ayear. "

"Who is the young man?"

"Robert Grant. He is a young lawyer in Charlottetown. I hope Gertrudewill be happy. She has had a sad life, with much bitterness in it, andshe feels things with a terrible keenness. Her first youth is gone andshe is practically alone in the world. This new love that has come intoher life seems such a wonderful thing to her that I think she hardlydares believe in its permanence. When her marriage had to be put offshe was quite in despair--though it certainly wasn't Mr. Grant's fault. There were complications in the settlement of his father's estate--hisfather died last winter--and he could not marry till the tangles wereunravelled. But I think Gertrude felt it was a bad omen and that herhappiness would somehow elude her yet. "

"It does not do, Mrs. Dr. Dear, to set your affections too much on aman, " remarked Susan solemnly. 

"Mr. Grant is quite as much in love with Gertrude as she is with him, Susan. It is not he whom she distrusts--it is fate. She has a littlemystic streak in her--I suppose some people would call hersuperstitious. She has an odd belief in dreams and we have not beenable to laugh it out of her. I must own, too, that some of herdreams--but there, it would not do to let Gilbert hear me hinting suchheresy. What have you found of much interest, Susan?"

Susan had given an exclamation. 

"Listen to this, Mrs. Dr. Dear. 'Mrs. Sophia Crawford has given up herhouse at Lowbridge and will make her home in future with her niece, Mrs. Albert Crawford. ' Why that is my own cousin Sophia, Mrs. Dr. Dear. We quarrelled when we were children over who should get a Sunday-schoolcard with the words 'God is Love, ' wreathed in rosebuds, on it, andhave never spoken to each other since. And now she is coming to liveright across the road from us. "

"You will have to make up the old quarrel, Susan. It will never do tobe at outs with your neighbours. "

"Cousin Sophia began the quarrel, so she can begin the making up also, Mrs. Dr. Dear, " said Susan loftily. "If she does I hope I am a goodenough Christian to meet her half-way. She is not a cheerful person andhas been a wet blanket all her life. The last time I saw her, her facehad a thousand wrinkles--maybe more, maybe less--from worrying andforeboding. She howled dreadful at her first husband's funeral but shemarried again in less than a year. The next note, I see, describes thespecial service in our church last Sunday night and says thedecorations were very beautiful. "

"Speaking of that reminds me that Mr. Pryor strongly disapproves offlowers in church, " said Miss Cornelia. "I always said there would betrouble when that man moved here from Lowbridge. He should never havebeen put in as elder--it was a mistake and we shall live to rue it, believe me! I have heard that he has said that if the girls continue to'mess up the pulpit with weeds' that he will not go to church. "

"The church got on very well before old Whiskers-on-the-moon came tothe Glen and it is my opinion it will get on without him after he isgone, " said Susan. 

"Who in the world ever gave him that ridiculous nickname?" asked Mrs. Blythe. 

"Why, the Lowbridge boys have called him that ever since I canremember, Mrs. Dr. Dear--I suppose because his face is so round andred, with that fringe of sandy whisker about it. It does not do foranyone to call him that in his hearing, though, and that you may tieto. But worse than his whiskers, Mrs. Dr. Dear, he is a veryunreasonable man and has a great many queer ideas. He is an elder nowand they say he is very religious; but I can well remember the time, Mrs. Dr. Dear, twenty years ago, when he was caught pasturing his cowin the Lowbridge graveyard. Yes, indeed, I have not forgotten that, andI always think of it when he is praying in meeting. Well, that is allthe notes and there is not much else in the paper of any importance. Inever take much interest in foreign parts. Who is this Archduke man whohas been murdered?"

"What does it matter to us?" asked Miss Cornelia, unaware of thehideous answer to her question which destiny was even then preparing. "Somebody is always murdering or being murdered in those Balkan States. It's their normal condition and I don't really think that our papersought to print such shocking things. The Enterprise is getting far toosensational with its big headlines. Well, I must be getting home. No, Anne dearie, it's no use asking me to stay to supper. Marshall has gotto thinking that if I'm not home for a meal it's not worth eating--justlike a man. So off I go. Merciful goodness, Anne dearie, what is thematter with that cat? Is he having a fit?"--this, as Doc suddenlybounded to the rug at Miss Cornelia's feet, laid back his ears, sworeat her, and then disappeared with one fierce leap through the window. 

"Oh, no. He's merely turning into Mr. Hyde--which means that we shallhave rain or high wind before morning. Doc is as good as a barometer. "

"Well, I am thankful he has gone on the rampage outside this time andnot into my kitchen, " said Susan. "And I am going out to see aboutsupper. With such a crowd as we have at Ingleside now it behooves us tothink about our meals betimes. "

CHAPTER II

DEW OF MORNING

Outside, the Ingleside lawn was full of golden pools of sunshine andplots of alluring shadows. Rilla Blythe was swinging in the hammockunder the big Scotch pine, Gertrude Oliver sat at its roots beside her, and Walter was stretched at full length on the grass, lost in a romanceof chivalry wherein old heroes and beauties of dead and gone centurieslived vividly again for him. 

Rilla was the "baby" of the Blythe family and was in a chronic state ofsecret indignation because nobody believed she was grown up. She was sonearly fifteen that she called herself that, and she was quite as tallas Di and Nan; also, she was nearly as pretty as Susan believed her tobe. She had great, dreamy, hazel eyes, a milky skin dappled with littlegolden freckles, and delicately arched eyebrows, giving her a demure, questioning look which made people, especially lads in their teens, want to answer it. Her hair was ripely, ruddily brown and a little dentin her upper lip looked as if some good fairy had pressed it in withher finger at Rilla's christening. Rilla, whose best friends could notdeny her share of vanity, thought her face would do very well, butworried over her figure, and wished her mother could be prevailed uponto let her wear longer dresses. She, who had been so plump androly-poly in the old Rainbow Valley days, was incredibly slim now, inthe arms-and-legs period. Jem and Shirley harrowed her soul by callingher "Spider. " Yet she somehow escaped awkwardness. There was somethingin her movements that made you think she never walked but alwaysdanced. She had been much petted and was a wee bit spoiled, but stillthe general opinion was that Rilla Blythe was a very sweet girl, evenif she were not so clever as Nan and Di. 

Miss Oliver, who was going home that night for vacation, had boardedfor a year at Ingleside. The Blythes had taken her to please Rilla whowas fathoms deep in love with her teacher and was even willing to shareher room, since no other was available. Gertrude Oliver wastwenty-eight and life had been a struggle for her. She was astriking-looking girl, with rather sad, almond-shaped brown eyes, aclever, rather mocking mouth, and enormous masses of black hair twistedabout her head. She was not pretty but there was a certain charm ofinterest and mystery in her face, and Rilla found her fascinating. Evenher occasional moods of gloom and cynicism had allurement for Rilla. These moods came only when Miss Oliver was tired. At all other timesshe was a stimulating companion, and the gay set at Ingleside neverremembered that she was so much older than themselves. Walter and Rillawere her favourites and she was the confidante of the secret wishes andaspirations of both. She knew that Rilla longed to be "out"--to go toparties as Nan and Di did, and to have dainty evening dresses and--yes, there is no mincing matters--beaux! In the plural, at that! As forWalter, Miss Oliver knew that he had written a sequence of sonnets "toRosamond"--i. E. , Faith Meredith--and that he aimed at a Professorshipof English literature in some big college. She knew his passionate loveof beauty and his equally passionate hatred of ugliness; she knew hisstrength and his weakness. 

Walter was, as ever, the handsomest of the Ingleside boys. Miss Oliverfound pleasure in looking at him for his good looks--he was so exactlylike what she would have liked her own son to be. Glossy black hair, brilliant dark grey eyes, faultless features. And a poet to hisfingertips! That sonnet sequence was really a remarkable thing for alad of twenty to write. Miss Oliver was no partial critic and she knewthat Walter Blythe had a wonderful gift. 

Rilla loved Walter with all her heart. He never teased her as Jem andShirley did. He never called her "Spider. " His pet name for her was"Rilla-my-Rilla"--a little pun on her real name, Marilla. She had beennamed after Aunt Marilla of Green Gables, but Aunt Marilla had diedbefore Rilla was old enough to know her very well, and Rilla detestedthe name as being horribly old-fashioned and prim. Why couldn't theyhave called her by her first name, Bertha, which was beautiful anddignified, instead of that silly "Rilla"? She did not mind Walter'sversion, but nobody else was allowed to call her that, except MissOliver now and then. "Rilla-my-Rilla" in Walter's musical voice soundedvery beautiful to her--like the lilt and ripple of some silvery brook. She would have died for Walter if it would have done him any good, soshe told Miss Oliver. Rilla was as fond of italics as most girls offifteen are--and the bitterest drop in her cup was her suspicion thathe told Di more of his secrets than he told her. 

"He thinks I'm not grown up enough to understand, " she had oncelamented rebelliously to Miss Oliver, "but I am! And I would never tellthem to a single soul--not even to you, Miss Oliver. I tell you all myown--I just couldn't be happy if I had any secret from you, dearest--but I would never betray his. I tell him everything--I evenshow him my diary. And it hurts me dreadfully when he doesn't tell methings. He shows me all his poems, though--they are marvellous, MissOliver. Oh, I just live in the hope that some day I shall be to Walterwhat Wordsworth's sister Dorothy was to him. Wordsworth never wroteanything like Walter's poems--nor Tennyson, either. "

"I wouldn't say just that. Both of them wrote a great deal of trash, "said Miss Oliver dryly. Then, repenting, as she saw a hurt look inRilla's eye, she added hastily, "But I believe Walter will be a great poet, too--some day--and you willhave more of his confidence as you grow older. "

"When Walter was in the hospital with typhoid last year I was almostcrazy, " sighed Rilla, a little importantly. "They never told me how illhe really was until it was all over--father wouldn't let them. I'm gladI didn't know--I couldn't have borne it. I cried myself to sleep everynight as it was. But sometimes, " concluded Rilla bitterly--she liked tospeak bitterly now and then in imitation of Miss Oliver--"sometimes Ithink Walter cares more for Dog Monday than he does for me. "

Dog Monday was the Ingleside dog, so called because he had come intothe family on a Monday when Walter had been reading Robinson Crusoe. Hereally belonged to Jem but was much attached to Walter also. He waslying beside Walter now with nose snuggled against his arm, thumpinghis tail rapturously whenever Walter gave him an absent pat. Monday wasnot a collie or a setter or a hound or a Newfoundland. He was just, asJem said, "plain dog"--very plain dog, uncharitable people added. Certainly, Monday's looks were not his strong point. Black spots werescattered at random over his yellow carcass, one of them, apparently, blotting out an eye. His ears were in tatters, for Monday was neversuccessful in affairs of honour. But he possessed one talisman. He knewthat not all dogs could be handsome or eloquent or victorious, but thatevery dog could love. Inside his homely hide beat the mostaffectionate, loyal, faithful heart of any dog since dogs were; andsomething looked out of his brown eyes that was nearer akin to a soulthan any theologian would allow. Everybody at Ingleside was fond ofhim, even Susan, although his one unfortunate propensity of sneakinginto the spare room and going to sleep on the bed tried her affectionsorely. 

On this particular afternoon Rilla had no quarrel on hand with existingconditions. 

"Hasn't June been a delightful month?" she asked, looking dreamily afarat the little quiet silvery clouds hanging so peacefully over RainbowValley. "We've had such lovely times--and such lovely weather. It hasjust been perfect every way. "

"I don't half like that, " said Miss Oliver, with a sigh. "It'sominous--somehow. A perfect thing is a gift of the gods--a sort ofcompensation for what is coming afterwards. I've seen that so oftenthat I don't care to hear people say they've had a perfect time. Junehas been delightful, though. "

"Of course, it hasn't been very exciting, " said Rilla. "The onlyexciting thing that has happened in the Glen for a year was old MissMead fainting in Church. Sometimes I wish something dramatic wouldhappen once in a while. "

"Don't wish it. Dramatic things always have a bitterness for some one. What a nice summer all you gay creatures will have! And me moping atLowbridge!"

"You'll be over often, won't you? I think there's going to be lots offun this summer, though I'll just be on the fringe of things as usual, I suppose. Isn't it horrid when people think you're a little girl whenyou're not?"

"There's plenty of time for you to be grown up, Rilla. Don't wish youryouth away. It goes too quickly. You'll begin to taste life soonenough. "

"Taste life! I want to eat it, " cried Rilla, laughing. "I wanteverything--everything a girl can have. I'll be fifteen in anothermonth, and then nobody can say I'm a child any longer. I heard someonesay once that the years from fifteen to nineteen are the best years ina girl's life. I'm going to make them perfectly splendid--just fillthem with fun. "

"There's no use thinking about what you're going to do--you aretolerably sure not to do it. "

"Oh, but you do get a lot of fun out of the thinking, " cried Rilla. 

"You think of nothing but fun, you monkey, " said Miss Oliverindulgently, reflecting that Rilla's chin was really the last word inchins. "Well, what else is fifteen for? But have you any notion ofgoing to college this fall?"

"No--nor any other fall. I don't want to. I never cared for all thoseologies and isms Nan and Di are so crazy about. And there's five of usgoing to college already. Surely that's enough. There's bound to be onedunce in every family. I'm quite willing to be a dunce if I can be apretty, popular, delightful one. I can't be clever. I have no talent atall, and you can't imagine how comfortable it is. Nobody expects me todo anything so I'm never pestered to do it. And I can't be ahousewifely, cookly creature, either. I hate sewing and dusting, andwhen Susan couldn't teach me to make biscuits nobody could. Father saysI toil not neither do I spin. Therefore, I must be a lily of thefield, " concluded Rilla, with another laugh. 

"You are too young to give up your studies altogether, Rilla. "

"Oh, mother will put me through a course of reading next winter. Itwill polish up her B. A. Degree. Luckily I like reading. Don't look atme so sorrowfully and so disapprovingly, dearest. I can't be sober andserious--everything looks so rosy and rainbowy to me. Next month I'llbe fifteen--and next year sixteen--and the year after that seventeen. Could anything be more enchanting?"

"Rap wood, " said Gertrude Oliver, half laughingly, half seriously. "Rapwood, Rilla-my-Rilla. "

CHAPTER III

MOONLIT MIRTH

Rilla, who still buttoned up her eyes when she went to sleep so thatshe always looked as if she were laughing in her slumber, yawned, stretched, and smiled at Gertrude Oliver. The latter had come over fromLowbridge the previous evening and had been prevailed upon to remainfor the dance at the Four Winds lighthouse the next night. 

"The new day is knocking at the window. What will it bring us, Iwonder. "

Miss Oliver shivered a little. She never greeted the days with Rilla'senthusiasm. She had lived long enough to know that a day may bring aterrible thing. 

"I think the nicest thing about days is their unexpectedness, " went onRilla. "It's jolly to wake up like this on a golden-fine morning andwonder what surprise packet the day will hand you. I always day-dreamfor ten minutes before I get up, imagining the heaps of splendid thingsthat may happen before night. "

"I hope something very unexpected will happen today, " said Gertrude. "Ihope the mail will bring us news that war has been averted betweenGermany and France. "

"Oh--yes, " said Rilla vaguely. "It will be dreadful if it isn't, Isuppose. But it won't really matter much to us, will it? I think a warwould e so exciting. The Boer war was, they say, but I don't rememberanything about it, of course. Miss Oliver, shall I wear my white dresstonight or my new green one? The green one is by far the prettier, ofcourse, but I'm almost afraid to wear it to a shore dance for fearsomething will happen to it. And will you do my hair the new way? Noneof the other girls in the Glen wear it yet and it will make such asensation. "

"How did you induce your mother to let you go to the dance?"

"Oh, Walter coaxed her over. He knew I would be heart-broken if Ididn't go. It's my first really-truly grown-up party, Miss Oliver, andI've just lain awake at nights for a week thinking it over. When I sawthe sun shining this morning I wanted to whoop for joy. It would besimply terrible if it rained tonight. I think I'll wear the green dressand risk it. I want to look my nicest at my first party. Besides, it'san inch longer than my white one. And I'll wear my silver slippers too. Mrs. Ford sent them to me last Christmas and I've never had a chance towear them yet. They're the dearest things. Oh, Miss Oliver, I do hopesome of the boys will ask me to dance. I shall die ofmortification--truly I will, if nobody does and I have to sit stuck upagainst the wall all the evening. Of course Carl and Jerry can't dancebecause they're the minister's sons, or else I could depend on them tosave me from utter disgrace. "

"You'll have plenty of partners--all the over-harbour boys arecoming--there'll be far more boys than girls. "

"I'm glad I'm not a minister's daughter, " laughed Rilla. "Poor Faith isso furious because she won't dare to dance tonight. Una doesn't care, of course. She has never hankered after dancing. Somebody told Faiththere would be a taffy-pull in the kitchen for those who didn't danceand you should have seen the face she made. She and Jem will sit out onthe rocks most of the evening, I suppose. Did you know that we are allto walk down as far as that little creek below the old House of Dreamsand then sail to the lighthouse? Won't it just be absolutely divine?"

"When I was fifteen I talked in italics and superlatives too, " saidMiss Oliver sarcastically. "I think the party promises to be pleasantfor young fry. I expect to be bored. None of those boys will botherdancing with an old maid like me. Jem and Walter will take me out onceout of charity. So you can't expect me to look forward to it with yourtouching young rapture. "

"Didn't you have a good time at your first party, though, Miss Oliver?"

"No. I had a hateful time. I was shabby and homely and nobody asked meto dance except one boy, homelier and shabbier than myself. He was soawkward I hated him--and even he didn't ask me again. I had no realgirlhood, Rilla. It's a sad loss. That's why I want you to have asplendid, happy girlhood. And I hope your first party will be oneyou'll remember all your life with pleasure. "

"I dreamed last night I was at the dance and right in the middle ofthings I discovered I was dressed in my kimono and bedroom shoes, "sighed Rilla. "I woke up with a gasp of horror. "

"Speaking of dreams--I had an odd one, " said Miss Oliver absently. "Itwas one of those vivid dreams I sometimes have--they are not the vaguejumble of ordinary dreams--they are as clear cut and real as life. "

"What was your dream?"

"I was standing on the veranda steps, here at Ingleside, looking downover the fields of the Glen. All at once, far in the distance, I saw along, silvery, glistening wave breaking over them. It came nearer andnearer--just a succession of little white waves like those that breakon the sandshore sometimes. The Glen was being swallowed up. I thought, 'Surely the waves will not come near Ingleside'--but they came nearerand nearer--so rapidly--before I could move or call they were breakingright at my feet--and everything was gone--there was nothing but awaste of stormy water where the Glen had been. I tried to drawback--and I saw that the edge of my dress was wet with blood--and Iwoke--shivering. I don't like the dream. There was some sinistersignificance in it. That kind of vivid dream always 'comes true' withme. "

"I hope it doesn't mean there's a storm coming up from the east tospoil the party, " murmured Rilla. 

"Incorrigible fifteen!" said Miss Oliver dryly. "No, Rilla-my-Rilla, Idon't think there is any danger that it foretells anything so awful asthat. "

There had been an undercurrent of tension in the Ingleside existencefor several days. Only Rilla, absorbed in her own budding life, wasunaware of it. Dr. Blythe had taken to looking grave and saying littleover the daily paper. Jem and Walter were keenly interested in the newsit brought. Jem sought Walter out in excitement that evening. 

"Oh, boy, Germany has declared war on France. This means that Englandwill fight too, probably--and if she does--well, the Piper of your oldfancy will have come at last. "

"It wasn't a fancy, " said Walter slowly. "It was a presentiment--avision--Jem, I really saw him for a moment that evening long ago. Suppose England does fight?"

"Why, we'll all have to turn in and help her, " cried Jem gaily. "Wecouldn't let the 'old grey mother of the northern sea' fight it outalone, could we? But you can't go--the typhoid has done you out ofthat. Sort of a shame, eh?"

Walter did not say whether it was a shame or not. He looked silentlyover the Glen to the dimpling blue harbour beyond. 

"We're the cubs--we've got to pitch in tooth and claw if it comes to afamily row, " Jem went on cheerfully, rumpling up his red curls with astrong, lean, sensitive brown hand--the hand of the born surgeon, hisfather often thought. "What an adventure it would be! But I supposeGrey or some of those wary old chaps will patch matters up at theeleventh hour. It'll be a rotten shame if they leave France in thelurch, though. If they don't, we'll see some fun. Well, I suppose it'stime to get ready for the spree at the light. "

Jem departed whistling "Wi' a hundred pipers and a' and a', " and Walterstood for a long time where he was. There was a little frown on hisforehead. This had all come up with the blackness and suddenness of athundercloud. A few days ago nobody had even thought of such a thing. It was absurd to think of it now. Some way out would be found. War wasa hellish, horrible, hideous thing--too horrible and hideous to happenin the twentieth century between civilized nations. The mere thought ofit was hideous, and made Walter unhappy in its threat to the beauty oflife. He would not think of it--he would resolutely put it out of hismind. How beautiful the old Glen was, in its August ripeness, with itschain of bowery old homesteads, tilled meadows and quiet gardens. Thewestern sky was like a great golden pearl. Far down the harbour wasfrosted with a dawning moonlight. The air was full of exquisitesounds--sleepy robin whistles, wonderful, mournful, soft murmurs ofwind in the twilit trees, rustle of aspen poplars talking in silverywhispers and shaking their dainty, heart-shaped leaves, lilting younglaughter from the windows of rooms where the girls were making readyfor the dance. The world was steeped in maddening loveliness of soundand colour. He would think only of these things and of the deep, subtlejoy they gave him. "Anyhow, no one will expect me to go, " he thought. "As Jem says, typhoid has seen to that. "

Rilla was leaning out of her room window, dressed for the dance. Ayellow pansy slipped from her hair and fell out over the sill like afalling star of gold. She caught at it vainly--but there were enoughleft. Miss Oliver had woven a little wreath of them for her pet's hair. 

"It's so beautifully calm--isn't that splendid? We'll have a perfectnight. Listen, Miss Oliver--I can hear those old bells in RainbowValley quite clearly. They've been hanging there for over ten years. "

"Their wind chime always makes me think of the aerial, celestial musicAdam and Eve heard in Milton's Eden, " responded Miss Oliver. 

"We used to have such fun in Rainbow Valley when we were children, "said Rilla dreamily. 

Nobody ever played in Rainbow Valley now. It was very silent on summerevenings. Walter liked to go there to read. Jem and Faith trysted thereconsiderably; Jerry and Nan went there to pursue uninterruptedly theceaseless wrangles and arguments on profound subjects that seemed to betheir preferred method of sweethearting. And Rilla had a beloved littlesylvan dell of her own there where she liked to sit and dream. 

"I must run down to the kitchen before I go and show myself off toSusan. She would never forgive me if I didn't. "

Rilla whirled into the shadowy kitchen at Ingleside, where Susan wasprosaically darning socks, and lighted it up with her beauty. She woreher green dress with its little pink daisy garlands, her silk stockingsand silver slippers. She had golden pansies in her hair and at hercreamy throat. She was so pretty and young and glowing that even CousinSophia Crawford was compelled to admire her--and Cousin Sophia Crawfordadmired few transient earthly things. Cousin Sophia and Susan had madeup, or ignored, their old feud since the former had come to live in theGlen, and Cousin Sophia often came across in the evenings to make aneighbourly call. Susan did not always welcome her rapturously forCousin Sophia was not what could be called an exhilarating companion. "Some calls are visits and some are visitations, Mrs. Dr. Dear, " Susansaid once, and left it to be inferred that Cousin Sophia's were thelatter. 

Cousin Sophia had a long, pale, wrinkled face, a long, thin nose, along, thin mouth, and very long, thin, pale hands, generally foldedresignedly on her black calico lap. Everything about her seemed longand thin and pale. She looked mournfully upon Rilla Blythe and saidsadly, "Is your hair all your own?"

"Of course it is, " cried Rilla indignantly. 

"Ah, well!" Cousin Sophia sighed. "It might be better for you if itwasn't! Such a lot of hair takes from a person's strength. It's a signof consumption, I've heard, but I hope it won't turn out like that inyour case. I s'pose you'll all be dancing tonight--even the minister'sboys most likely. I s'pose his girls won't go that far. Ah, well, Inever held with dancing. I knew a girl once who dropped dead while shewas dancing. How any one could ever dance aga' after a judgment likethat I cannot comprehend. "

"Did she ever dance again?" asked Rilla pertly. 

"I told you she dropped dead. Of course she never danced again, poorcreature. She was a Kirke from Lowbridge. You ain't a-going off likethat with nothing on your bare neck, are you?"

"It's a hot evening, " protested Rilla. "But I'll put on a scarf when wego on the water. "

"I knew of a boat load of young folks who went sailing on that harbourforty years ago just such a night as this--just exactly such a night asthis, " said Cousin Sophia lugubriously, "and they were upset anddrowned--every last one of them. I hope nothing like that'll happen toyou tonight. Do you ever try anything for the freckles? I used to findplantain juice real good. "

"You certainly should be a judge of freckles, Cousin Sophia, " saidSusan, rushing to Rilla's defence. "You were more speckled than anytoad when you was a girl. Rilla's only come in summer but yours stayedput, season in and season out; and you had not a ground colour likehers behind them neither. You look real nice, Rilla, and that way offixing your hair is becoming. But you are not going to walk to theharbour in those slippers, are you?"

"Oh, no. We'll all wear our old shoes to the harbour and carry ourslippers. Do you like my dress, Susan?"

"It minds me of a dress I wore when I was a girl, " sighed Cousin Sophiabefore Susan could reply. "It was green with pink posies on it, too, and it was flounced from the waist to the hem. We didn't wear theskimpy things girls wear nowadays. Ah me, times has changed and not forthe better I'm afraid. I tore a big hole in it that night and someonespilled a cup of tea all over it. Ruined it completely. But I hopenothing will happen to your dress. It orter to be a bit longer I'mthinking--your legs are so terrible long and thin. "

"Mrs. Dr. Blythe does not approve of little girls dressing likegrown-up ones, " said Susan stiffly, intending merely a snub to CousinSophia. But Rilla felt insulted. A little girl indeed! She whisked outof the kitchen in high dudgeon. Another time she wouldn't go down toshow herself off to Susan--Susan, who thought nobody was grown up untilshe was sixty! And that horrid Cousin Sophia with her digs aboutfreckles and legs! What business had an old--an old beanpole like thatto talk of anybody else being long and thin? Rilla felt all herpleasure in herself and her evening clouded and spoiled. The very teethof her soul were set on edge and she could have sat down and cried. 

But later on her spirits rose again when she found herself one of thegay crowd bound for the Four Winds light. 

The Blythes left Ingleside to the melancholy music of howls from DogMonday, who was locked up in the barn lest he make an uninvited guestat the light. They picked up the Merediths in the village, and othersjoined them as they walked down the old harbour road. Mary Vance, resplendent in blue crepe, with lace overdress, came out of MissCornelia's gate and attached herself to Rilla and Miss Oliver who werewalking together and who did not welcome her over-warmly. Rilla was notvery fond of Mary Vance. She had never forgotten the humiliating daywhen Mary had chased her through the village with a dried codfish. MaryVance, to tell the truth, was not exactly popular with any of her set. Still, they enjoyed her society--she had such a biting tongue that itwas stimulating. "Mary Vance is a habit of ours--we can't do withouther even when we are furious with her, " Di Blythe had once said. 

Most of the little crowd were paired off after a fashion. Jem walkedwith Faith Meredith, of course, and Jerry Meredith with Nan Blythe. Diand Walter were together, deep in confidential conversation which Rillaenvied. 

Carl Meredith was walking with Miranda Pryor, more to torment JoeMilgrave than for any other reason. Joe was known to have a stronghankering for the said Miranda, which shyness prevented him fromindulging on all occasions. Joe might summon enough courage to amble upbeside Miranda if the night were dark, but here, in this moonlit dusk, he simply could not do it. So he trailed along after the procession andthought things not lawful to be uttered of Carl Meredith. Miranda wasthe daughter of Whiskers-on-the-moon; she did not share her father'sunpopularity but she was not much run after, being a pale, neutrallittle creature, somewhat addicted to nervous giggling. She had silveryblonde hair and her eyes were big china blue orbs that looked as if shehad been badly frightened when she was little and had never got overit. She would much rather have walked with Joe than with Carl, withwhom she did not feel in the least at home. Yet it was something of anhonour, too, to have a college boy beside her, and a son of the manseat that. 

Shirley Blythe was with Una Meredith and both were rather silentbecause such was their nature. Shirley was a lad of sixteen, sedate, sensible, thoughtful, full of a quiet humour. He was Susan's "littlebrown boy" yet, with his brown hair, brown eyes, and clear brown skin. He liked to walk with Una Meredith because she never tried to make himtalk or badgered him with chatter. Una was as sweet and shy as she hadbeen in the Rainbow Valley days, and her large, dark-blue eyes were asdreamy and wistful. She had a secret, carefully-hidden fancy for WalterBlythe that nobody but Rilla ever suspected. Rilla sympathized with itand wished Walter would return it. She liked Una better than Faith, whose beauty and aplomb rather overshadowed other girls--and Rilla didnot enjoy being overshadowed. 

But just now she was very happy. It was so delightful to be trippingwith her friends down that dark, gleaming road sprinkled with itslittle spruces and firs, whose balsam made all the air resinous aroundthem. Meadows of sunset afterlight were behind the westerning hills. Before them was the shining harbour. A bell was ringing in the littlechurch over-harbour and the lingering dream-notes died around the dim, amethystine points. The gulf beyond was still silvery blue in theafterlight. Oh, it was all glorious--the clear air with its salt tang, the balsam of the firs, the laughter of her friends. Rilla lovedlife--its bloom and brilliance; she loved the ripple of music, the humof merry conversation; she wanted to walk on forever over this road ofsilver and shadow. It was her first party and she was going to have asplendid time. There was nothing in the world to worry about--not evenfreckles and over-long legs--nothing except one little haunting fearthat nobody would ask her to dance. It was beautiful and satisfyingjust to be alive--to be fifteen--to be pretty. Rilla drew a long breathof rapture--and caught it midway rather sharply. Jem was telling somestory to Faith--something that had happened in the Balkan War. 

"The doctor lost both his legs--they were smashed to pulp--and he wasleft on the field to die. And he crawled about from man to man, to allthe wounded men round him, as long as he could, and did everythingpossible to relieve their sufferings--never thinking of himself--he wastying a bit of bandage round another man's leg when he went under. Theyfound them there, the doctor's dead hands still held the bandage tight, the bleeding was stopped and the other man's life was saved. Some hero, wasn't he, Faith? I tell you when I read that--"

Jem and Faith moved on out of hearing. Gertrude Oliver suddenlyshivered. Rilla pressed her arm sympathetically. 

"Wasn't it dreadful, Miss Oliver? I don't know why Jem tells suchgruesome things at a time like this when we're all out for fun. "

"Do you think it dreadful, Rilla? I thought it wonderful--beautiful. Such a story makes one ashamed of ever doubting human nature. Thatman's action was godlike. And how humanity responds to the ideal ofself-sacrifice. As for my shiver, I don't know what caused it. Theevening is certainly warm enough. Perhaps someone is walking over thedark, starshiny spot that is to be my grave. That is the explanationthe old superstition would give. Well, I won't think of that on thislovely night. Do you know, Rilla, that when night-time comes I'm alwaysglad I live in the country. We know the real charm of night here astown dwellers never do. Every night is beautiful in the country--eventhe stormy ones. I love a wild night storm on this old gulf shore. Asfor a night like this, it is almost too beautiful--it belongs to youthand dreamland and I'm half afraid of it. "

"I feel as if I were part of it, " said Rilla. 

"Ah yes, you're young enough not to be afraid of perfect things. Well, here we are at the House of Dreams. It seems lonely this summer. TheFords didn't come?"

"Mr. And Mrs. Ford and Persis didn't. Kenneth did--but he stayed withhis mother's people over-harbour. We haven't seen a great deal of himthis summer. He's a little lame, so didn't go about very much. "

"Lame? What happened to him?"

"He broke his ankle in a football game last fall and was laid up mostof the winter. He has limped a little ever since but it is gettingbetter all the time and he expects it will be all right before long. Hehas been up to Ingleside only twice. "

"Ethel Reese is simply crazy about him, " said Mary Vance. "She hasn'tgot the sense she was born with where he is concerned. He walked homewith her from the over-harbour church last prayer-meeting night and theairs she has put on since would really make you weary of life. As if aToronto boy like Ken Ford would ever really think of a country girllike Ethel!"

Rilla flushed. It did not matter to her if Kenneth Ford walked homewith Ethel Reese a dozen times--it did not! Nothing that he didmattered to her. He was ages older than she was. He chummed with Nanand Di and Faith, and looked upon her, Rilla, as a child whom he nevernoticed except to tease. And she detested Ethel Reese and Ethel Reesehated her--always had hated her since Walter had pummelled Dan sonotoriously in Rainbow Valley days; but why need she be thought beneathKenneth Ford's notice because she was a country girl, pray? As for MaryVance, she was getting to be an out-and-out gossip and thought ofnothing but who walked home with people!

There was a little pier on the harbour shore below the House of Dreams, and two boats were moored there. One boat was skippered by Jem Blythe, the other by Joe Milgrave, who knew all about boats and was nothingloth to let Miranda Pryor see it. They raced down the harbour and Joe'sboat won. More boats were coming down from the Harbour Head and acrossthe harbour from the western side. Everywhere there was laughter. Thebig white tower on Four Winds Point was overflowing with light, whileits revolving beacon flashed overhead. A family from Charlottetown, relatives of the light's keeper, were summering at the light, and theywere giving the party to which all the young people of Four Winds andGlen St. Mary and over-harbour had been invited. As Jem's boat swung inbelow the lighthouse Rilla desperately snatched off her shoes anddonned her silver slippers behind Miss Oliver's screening back. Aglance had told her that the rock-cut steps climbing up to the lightwere lined with boys, and lighted by Chinese lanterns, and she wasdetermined she would not walk up those steps in the heavy shoes hermother had insisted on her wearing for the road. The slippers pinchedabominably, but nobody would have suspected it as Rilla trippedsmilingly up the steps, her soft dark eyes glowing and questioning, hercolour deepening richly on her round, creamy cheeks. The very minuteshe reached the top of the steps an over-harbour boy asked her to danceand the next moment they were in the pavilion that had been builtseaward of the lighthouse for dances. It was a delightful spot, roofedover with fir-boughs and hung with lanterns. Beyond was the sea in aradiance that glowed and shimmered, to the left the moonlit crests andhollows of the sand-dunes, to the right the rocky shore with its inkyshadows and its crystalline coves. Rilla and her partner swung in amongthe dancers; she drew a long breath of delight; what witching music NedBurr of the Upper Glen was coaxing from his fiddle--it was really likethe magical pipes of the old tale which compelled all who heard them todance. How cool and fresh the gulf breeze blew; how white and wonderfulthe moonlight was over everything! This was life--enchanting life. Rilla felt as if her feet and her soul both had wings. 

CHAPTER IV

THE PIPER PIPES

Rilla's first party was a triumph--or so it seemed at first. She had somany partners that she had to split her dances. Her silver slippersseemed verily to dance of themselves and though they continued to pinchher toes and blister her heels that did not interfere with herenjoyment in the least. Ethel Reese gave her a bad ten minutes bybeckoning her mysteriously out of the pavilion and whispering, with aReese-like smirk, that her dress gaped behind and that there was astain on the flounce. Rilla rushed miserably to the room in thelighthouse which was fitted up for a temporary ladies' dressing-room, and discovered that the stain was merely a tiny grass smear and thatthe gap was equally tiny where a hook had pulled loose. Irene Howardfastened it up for her and gave her some over-sweet, condescendingcompliments. Rilla felt flattered by Irene's condescension. She was anUpper Glen girl of nineteen who seemed to like the society of theyounger girls--spiteful friends said because she could queen it overthem without rivalry. But Rilla thought Irene quite wonderful and lovedher for her patronage. Irene was pretty and stylish; she sang divinelyand spent every winter in Charlottetown taking music lessons. She hadan aunt in Montreal who sent her wonderful things to wear; she wasreported to have had a sad love affair--nobody knew just what, but itsvery mystery allured. Rilla felt that Irene's compliments crowned herevening. She ran gaily back to the pavilion and lingered for a momentin the glow of the lanterns at the entrance looking at the dancers. Amomentary break in the whirling throng gave her a glimpse of KennethFord standing at the other side. 

Rilla's heart skipped a beat--or, if that be a physiologicalimpossibility, she thought it did. So he was here, after all. She hadconcluded he was not coming--not that it mattered in the least. Wouldhe see her? Would he take any notice of her? Of course, he wouldn't askher to dance--that couldn't be hoped for. He thought her just a merechild. He had called her "Spider" not three weeks ago when he had beenat Ingleside one evening. She had cried about it upstairs afterwardsand hated him. But her heart skipped a beat when she saw that he wasedging his way round the side of the pavilion towards her. Was hecoming to her--was he?--was he?--yes, he was! He was looking forher--he was here beside her--he was gazing down at her with somethingin his dark grey eyes that Rilla had never seen in them. Oh, it wasalmost too much to bear! and everything was going on as before--thedancers were spinning round, the boys who couldn't get partners werehanging about the pavilion, canoodling couples were sitting out on therocks--nobody seemed to realize what a stupendous thing had happened. 

Kenneth was a tall lad, very good looking, with a certain carelessgrace of bearing that somehow made all the other boys seem stiff andawkward by contrast. He was reported to be awesomely clever, with theglamour of a far-away city and a big university hanging around him. Hehad also the reputation of being a bit of a lady-killer. But thatprobably accrued to him from his possession of a laughing, velvetyvoice which no girl could hear without a heartbeat, and a dangerous wayof listening as if she were saying something that he had longed all hislife to hear. 

"Is this Rilla-my-Rilla?" he asked in a low tone. 

"Yeth, " said Rilla, and immediately wished she could throw herselfheadlong down the lighthouse rock or otherwise vanish from a jeeringworld. 

Rilla had lisped in early childhood; but she had grown out of it. Onlyon occasions of stress and strain did the tendency re-assert itself. She hadn't lisped for a year; and now at this very moment, when she wasso especially desirous of appearing grown up and sophisticated, shemust go and lisp like a baby! It was too mortifying; she felt as iftears were going to come into her eyes; the next minute she wouldbe--blubbering--yes, just blubbering--she wished Kenneth would goaway--she wished he had never come. The party was spoiled. Everythinghad turned to dust and ashes. 

And he had called her "Rilla-my-Rilla"--not "Spider" or "Kid" or"Puss, " as he had been used to call her when he took any noticewhatever of her. She did not at all resent his using Walter's pet namefor her; it sounded beautifully in his low caressing tones, with justthe faintest suggestion of emphasis on the "my. " It would have been sonice if she had not made a fool of herself. She dared not look up lestshe should see laughter in his eyes. So she looked down; and as herlashes were very long and dark and her lids very thick and creamy, theeffect was quite charming and provocative, and Kenneth reflected thatRilla Blythe was going to be the beauty of the Ingleside girls afterall. He wanted to make her look up--to catch again that little, demure, questioning glance. She was the prettiest thing at the party, there wasno doubt of that. 

What was he saying? Rilla could hardly believe her ears. 

"Can we have a dance?"

"Yes, " said Rilla. She said it with such a fierce determination not tolisp that she fairly blurted the word out. Then she writhed in spiritagain. It sounded so bold--so eager--as if she were fairly jumping athim! What would he think of her? Oh, why did dreadful things like thishappen, just when a girl wanted to appear at her best?

Kenneth drew her in among the dancers. 

"I think this game ankle of mine is good for one hop around, at least, "he said. 

"How is your ankle?" said Rilla. Oh, why couldn't she think ofsomething else to say? She knew he was sick of inquiries about hisankle. She had heard him say so at Ingleside--heard him tell Di he wasgoing to wear a placard on his breast announcing to all and sundry thatthe ankle was improving, etc. And now she must go and ask this stalequestion again. 

Kenneth was tired of inquiries about his ankle. But then he had notoften been asked about it by lips with such an adorable kissable dentjust above them. Perhaps that was why he answered very patiently thatit was getting on well and didn't trouble him much, if he didn't walkor stand too long at a time. 

"They tell me it will be as strong as ever in time, but I'll have tocut football out this fall. "

They danced together and Rilla knew every girl in sight envied her. After the dance they went down the rock steps and Kenneth found alittle flat and they rowed across the moonlit channel to thesand-shore; they walked on the sand till Kenneth's ankle made protestand then they sat down among the dunes. Kenneth talked to her as he hadtalked to Nan and Di. Rilla, overcome with a shyness she did notunderstand, could not talk much, and thought he would think herfrightfully stupid; but in spite of this it was all very wonderful--theexquisite moonlit night, the shining sea, the tiny little waveletsswishing on the sand, the cool and freakish wind of night crooning inthe stiff grasses on the crest of the dunes, the music sounding faintlyand sweetly over the channel. 

"'A merry lilt o' moonlight for mermaiden revelry, '" quoted Kennethsoftly from one of Walter's poems. 

And just he and she alone together in the glamour of sound and sight!If only her slippers didn't bite so! and if only she could talkcleverly like Miss Oliver--nay, if she could only talk as she didherself to other boys! But words would not come, she could only listenand murmur little commonplace sentences now and again. But perhaps herdreamy eyes and her dented lip and her slender throat talked eloquentlyfor her. At any rate Kenneth seemed in no hurry to suggest going backand when they did go back supper was in progress. He found a seat forher near the window of the lighthouse kitchen and sat on the sillbeside her while she ate her ices and cake. Rilla looked about her andthought how lovely her first party had been. She would never forget it. The room re-echoed to laughter and jest. Beautiful young eyes sparkledand shone. From the pavilion outside came the lilt of the fiddle andthe rhythmic steps of the dancers. 

There was a little disturbance among a group of boys crowded about thedoor; a young fellow pushed through and halted on the threshold, looking about him rather sombrely. It was Jack Elliott fromover-harbour--a McGill medical student, a quiet chap not much addictedto social doings. He had been invited to the party but had not beenexpected to come since he had to go to Charlottetown that day and couldnot be back until late. Yet here he was--and he carried a folded paperin his hand. 

Gertrude Oliver looked at him from her corner and shivered again. Shehad enjoyed the party herself, after all, for she had foregathered witha Charlottetown acquaintance who, being a stranger and much older thanmost of the guests, felt himself rather out of it, and had been glad tofall in with this clever girl who could talk of world doings andoutside events with the zest and vigour of a man. In the pleasure ofhis society she had forgotten some of her misgivings of the day. Nowthey suddenly returned to her. What news did Jack Elliott bring? Linesfrom an old poem flashed unbidden into her mind--"there was a sound ofrevelry by night"--"Hush! Hark! A deep sound strikes like a risingknell"--why should she think of that now? Why didn't Jack Elliottspeak--if he had anything to tell? Why did he just stand there, glowering importantly?

"Ask him--ask him, " she said feverishly to Allan Daly. But somebodyelse had already asked him. The room grew very silent all at once. Outside the fiddler had stopped for a rest and there was silence theretoo. Afar off they heard the low moan of the gulf--the presage of astorm already on its way up the Atlantic. A girl's laugh drifted upfrom the rocks and died away as if frightened out of existence by thesudden stillness. 

"England declared war on Germany today, " said Jack Elliott slowly. "Thenews came by wire just as I left town. "

"God help us, " whispered Gertrude Oliver under her breath. "Mydream--my dream! The first wave has broken. " She looked at Allan Dalyand tried to smile. 

"Is this Armageddon?" she asked. 

"I am afraid so, " he said gravely. 

A chorus of exclamations had arisen round them--light surprise and idleinterest for the most part. Few there realized the import of themessage--fewer still realized that it meant anything to them. Beforelong the dancing was on again and the hum of pleasure was as loud asever. Gertrude and Allan Daly talked the news over in low, troubledtones. Walter Blythe had turned pale and left the room. Outside he metJem, hurrying up the rock steps. 

"Have you heard the news, Jem?"

"Yes. The Piper has come. Hurrah! I knew England wouldn't leave Francein the lurch. I've been trying to get Captain Josiah to hoist the flagbut he says it isn't the proper caper till sunrise. Jack says they'llbe calling for volunteers tomorrow. "

"What a fuss to make over nothing, " said Mary Vance disdainfully as Jemdashed off. She was sitting out with Miller Douglas on a lobster trapwhich was not only an unromantic but an uncomfortable seat. But Maryand Miller were both supremely happy on it. Miller Douglas was a big, strapping, uncouth lad, who thought Mary Vance's tongue uncommonlygifted and Mary Vance's white eyes stars of the first magnitude; andneither of them had the least inkling why Jem Blythe wanted to hoistthe lighthouse flag. "What does it matter if there's going to be a warover there in Europe? I'm sure it doesn't concern us. "

Walter looked at her and had one of his odd visitations of prophecy. 

"Before this war is over, " he said--or something said through hislips--"every man and woman and child in Canada will feel it--you, Mary, will feel it--feel it to your heart's core. You will weep tears ofblood over it. The Piper has come--and he will pipe until every cornerof the world has heard his awful and irresistible music. It will beyears before the dance of death is over--years, Mary. And in thoseyears millions of hearts will break. "

"Fancy now!" said Mary who always said that when she couldn't think ofanything else to say. She didn't know what Walter meant but she feltuncomfortable. Walter Blythe was always saying odd things. That oldPiper of his--she hadn't heard anything about him since their playdaysin Rainbow Valley--and now here he was bobbing up again. She didn'tlike it, and that was the long and short of it. 

"Aren't you painting it rather strong, Walter?" asked Harvey Crawford, coming up just then. "This war won't last for years--it'll be over in amonth or two. England will just wipe Germany off the map in no time. "

"Do you think a war for which Germany has been preparing for twentyyears will be over in a few weeks?" said Walter passionately. "Thisisn't a paltry struggle in a Balkan corner, Harvey. It is a deathgrapple. Germany comes to conquer or to die. And do you know what willhappen if she conquers? Canada will be a German colony. "

"Well, I guess a few things will happen before that, " said Harveyshrugging his shoulders. "The British navy would have to be licked forone; and for another, Miller here, now, and I, we'd raise a dust, wouldn't we, Miller? No Germans need apply for this old country, eh?"

Harvey ran down the steps laughing. 

"I declare, I think all you boys talk the craziest stuff, " said MaryVance in disgust. She got up and dragged Miller off to the rock-shore. It didn't happen often that they had a chance for a talk together; Marywas determined that this one shouldn't be spoiled by Walter Blythe'ssilly blather about Pipers and Germans and such like absurd things. They left Walter standing alone on the rock steps, looking out over thebeauty of Four Winds with brooding eyes that saw it not. 

The best of the evening was over for Rilla, too. Ever since JackElliott's announcement, she had sensed that Kenneth was no longerthinking about her. She felt suddenly lonely and unhappy. It was worsethan if he had never noticed her at all. Was life like this--somethingdelightful happening and then, just as you were revelling in it, slipping away from you? Rilla told herself pathetically that she feltyears older than when she had left home that evening. Perhaps shedid--perhaps she was. Who knows? It does not do to laugh at the pangsof youth. They are very terrible because youth has not yet learned that"this, too, will pass away. " Rilla sighed and wished she were home, inbed, crying into her pillow. 

"Tired?" said Kenneth, gently but absently--oh, so absently. He reallydidn't care a bit whether she were tired or not, she thought. 

"Kenneth, " she ventured timidly, "you don't think this war will mattermuch to us in Canada, do you?"

"Matter? Of course it will matter to the lucky fellows who will be ableto take a hand. I won't--thanks to this confounded ankle. Rotten luck, I call it. "

"I don't see why we should fight England's battles, " cried Rilla. "She's quite able to fight them herself. "

"That isn't the point. We are part of the British Empire. It's a familyaffair. We've got to stand by each other. The worst of it is, it willbe over before I can be of any use. "

"Do you mean that you would really volunteer to go if it wasn't foryour ankle? asked Rilla incredulously. 

"Sure I would. You see they'll go by thousands. Jem'll be off, I'll beta cent--Walter won't be strong enough yet, I suppose. And JerryMeredith--he'll go! And I was worrying about being out of football thisyear!"

Rilla was too startled to say anything. Jem--and Jerry! Nonsense! Whyfather and Mr. Meredith wouldn't allow it. They weren't throughcollege. Oh, why hadn't Jack Elliott kept his horrid news to himself?

Mark Warren came up and asked her to dance. Rilla went, knowing Kennethdidn't care whether she went or stayed. An hour ago on the sand-shorehe had been looking at her as if she were the only being of anyimportance in the world. And now she was nobody. His thoughts were fullof this Great Game which was to be played out on bloodstained fieldswith empires for stakes--a Game in which womenkind could have no part. Women, thought Rilla miserably, just had to sit and cry at home. Butall this was foolishness. Kenneth couldn't go--he admitted thathimself--and Walter couldn't--thank goodness for that--and Jem andJerry would have more sense. She wouldn't worry--she would enjoyherself. But how awkward Mark Warren was! How he bungled his steps!Why, for mercy's sake, did boys try to dance who didn't know the firstthing about dancing; and who had feet as big as boats? There, he hadbumped her into somebody! She would never dance with him again!

She danced with others, though the zest was gone out of the performanceand she had begun to realize that her slippers hurt her badly. Kennethseemed to have gone--at least nothing was to be seen of him. Her firstparty was spoiled, though it had seemed so beautiful at one time. Herhead ached--her toes burned. And worse was yet to come. She had gonedown with some over-harbour friends to the rock-shore where they alllingered as dance after dance went on above them. It was cool andpleasant and they were tired. Rilla sat silent, taking no part in thegay conversation. She was glad when someone called down that theover-harbour boats were leaving. A laughing scramble up the lighthouserock followed. A few couples still whirled about in the pavilion butthe crowd had thinned out. Rilla looked about her for the Glen group. She could not see one of them. She ran into the lighthouse. Still, nosign of anybody. In dismay she ran to the rock steps, down which theover-harbour guests were hurrying. She could see the boats below--wherewas Jem's--where was Joe's?

"Why, Rilla Blythe, I thought you'd be gone home long ago, " said MaryVance, who was waving her scarf at a boat skimming up the channel, skippered by Miller Douglas. 

"Where are the rest?" gasped Rilla. 

"Why, they're gone--Jem went an hour ago--Una had a headache. And therest went with Joe about fifteen minutes ago. See--they're just goingaround Birch Point. I didn't go because it's getting rough and I knewI'd be seasick. I don't mind walking home from here. It's only a mileand a half. I s'posed you'd gone. Where were you?"

"Down on the rocks with Jem and Mollie Crawford. Oh, why didn't theylook for me?"

"They did--but you couldn't be found. Then they concluded you must havegone in the other boat. Don't worry. You can stay all night with me andwe'll 'phone up to Ingleside where you are. "

Rilla realized that there was nothing else to do. Her lips trembled andtears came into her eyes. She blinked savagely--she would not let MaryVance see her crying. But to be forgotten like this! To think nobodyhad thought it worth while to make sure where she was--not even Walter. Then she had a sudden dismayed recollection. 

"My shoes, " she exclaimed. "I left them in the boat. "

"Well, I never, " said Mary. "You're the most thoughtless kid I eversaw. You'll have to ask Hazel Lewison to lend you a pair of shoes. "

"I won't. " cried Rilla, who didn't like the said Hazel. "I'll gobarefoot first. "

Mary shrugged her shoulders. 

"Just as you like. Pride must suffer pain. It'll teach you to be morecareful. Well, let's hike. "

Accordingly they hiked. But to "hike" along a deep-rutted, pebbly lanein frail, silver-hued slippers with high French heels, is not anexhilarating performance. Rilla managed to limp and totter along untilthey reached the harbour road; but she could go no farther in thosedetestable slippers. She took them and her dear silk stockings off andstarted barefoot. That was not pleasant either; her feet were verytender and the pebbles and ruts of the road hurt them. Her blisteredheels smarted. But physical pain was almost forgotten in the sting ofhumiliation. This was a nice predicament! If Kenneth Ford could see hernow, limping along like a little girl with a stone bruise! Oh, what ahorrid way for her lovely party to end! She just had to cry--it was tooterrible. Nobody cared for her--nobody bothered about her at all. Well, if she caught cold from walking home barefoot on a dew-wet road andwent into a decline perhaps they would be sorry. She furtively wipedher tears away with her scarf--handkerchiefs seemed to have vanishedlike shoes!--but she could not help sniffling. Worse and worse!

"You've got a cold, I see, " said Mary. "You ought to have known youwould, sitting down in the wind on those rocks. Your mother won't letyou go out again in a hurry I can tell you. It's certainly beensomething of a party. The Lewisons know how to do things, I'll say thatfor them, though Hazel Lewison is no choice of mine. My, how black shelooked when she saw you dancing with Ken Ford. And so did that littlehussy of an Ethel Reese. What a flirt he is!"

"I don't think he's a flirt, " said Rilla as defiantly as two desperatesniffs would let her. 

"You'll know more about men when you're as old as I am, " said Marypatronizingly. "Mind you, it doesn't do to believe all they tell you. Don't let Ken Ford think that all he has to do to get you on a stringis to drop his handkerchief. Have more spirit than that, child. "

To be thus hectored and patronized by Mary Vance was unendurable! Andit was unendurable to walk on stony roads with blistered heels and barefeet! And it was unendurable to be crying and have no handkerchief andnot to be able to stop crying!

"I'm not thinking"--sniff--"about Kenneth"--sniff--"Ford"--twosniffs--"at all, " cried tortured Rilla. 

"There's no need to fly off the handle, child. You ought to be willingto take advice from older people. I saw how you slipped over to thesands with Ken and stayed there ever so long with him. Your motherwouldn't like it if she knew. "

"I'll tell my mother all about it--and Miss Oliver--and Walter, " Rillagasped between sniffs. "You sat for hours with Miller Douglas on thatlobster trap, Mary Vance! What would Mrs. Elliott say to that if sheknew?"

"Oh, I'm not going to quarrel with you, " said Mary, suddenly retreatingto high and lofty ground. "All I say is, you should wait until you'regrown-up before you do things like that. "

Rilla gave up trying to hide the fact that she was crying. Everythingwas spoiled--even that beautiful, dreamy, romantic, moonlit hour withKenneth on the sands was vulgarized and cheapened. She loathed MaryVance. 

"Why, whatever's wrong?" cried mystified Mary. "What are you cryingfor?"

"My feet--hurt so--" sobbed Rilla clinging to the last shred of herpride. It was less humiliating to admit crying because of your feetthan because--because somebody had been amusing himself with you, andyour friends had forgotten you, and other people patronized you. 

"I daresay they do, " said Mary, not unkindly. "Never mind. I know wherethere's a pot of goose-grease in Cornelia's tidy pantry and it beatsall the fancy cold creams in the world. I'll put some on your heelsbefore you go to bed. "

Goose-grease on your heels! So this was what your first party and yourfirst beau and your first moonlit romance ended in!

Rilla gave over crying in sheer disgust at the futility of tears andwent to sleep in Mary Vance's bed in the calm of despair. Outside, thedawn came greyly in on wings of storm; Captain Josiah, true to hisword, ran up the Union Jack at the Four Winds Light and it streamed onthe fierce wind against the clouded sky like a gallant unquenchablebeacon. 

CHAPTER V

"THE SOUND OF A GOING"

Rilla ran down through the sunlit glory of the maple grove behindIngleside, to her favourite nook in Rainbow Valley. She sat down on agreen-mossed stone among the fern, propped her chin on her hands andstared unseeingly at the dazzling blue sky of the August afternoon--soblue, so peaceful, so unchanged, just as it had arched over the valleyin the mellow days of late summer ever since she could remember. 

She wanted to be alone--to think things out--to adjust herself, if itwere possible, to the new world into which she seemed to have beentransplanted with a suddenness and completeness that left her halfbewildered as to her own identity. Was she--could she be--the sameRilla Blythe who had danced at Four Winds Light six days ago--only sixdays ago? It seemed to Rilla that she had lived as much in those sixdays as in all her previous life--and if it be true that we shouldcount time by heart-throbs she had. That evening, with its hopes andfears and triumphs and humiliations, seemed like ancient history now. Could she really ever have cried just because she had been forgottenand had to walk home with Mary Vance? Ah, thought Rilla sadly, howtrivial and absurd such a cause of tears now appeared to her. She couldcry now with a right good will--but she would not--she must not. Whatwas it mother had said, looking, with her white lips and stricken eyes, as Rilla had never seen her mother look before, "When our women fail in courage, Shall our men be fearless still?"

Yes, that was it. She must be brave--like mother--and Nan--andFaith--Faith, who had cried with flashing eyes, "Oh, if I were only aman, to go too!" Only, when her eyes ached and her throat burned likethis she had to hide herself in Rainbow Valley for a little, just tothink things out and remember that she wasn't a child any longer--shewas grown-up and women had to face things like this. But itwas--nice--to get away alone now and then, where nobody could see herand where she needn't feel that people thought her a little coward ifsome tears came in spite of her. 

How sweet and woodsey the ferns smelled! How softly the great featheryboughs of the firs waved and murmured over her! How elfinly rang thebells of the "Tree Lovers"--just a tinkle now and then as the breezeswept by! How purple and elusive the haze where incense was beingoffered on many an altar of the hills! How the maple leaves whitened inthe wind until the grove seemed covered with pale silvery blossoms!Everything was just the same as she had seen it hundreds of times; andyet the whole face of the world seemed changed. 

"How wicked I was to wish that something dramatic would happen!" shethought. "Oh, if we could only have those dear, monotonous, pleasantdays back again! I would never, never grumble about them again. "

Rilla's world had tumbled to pieces the very day after the party. Asthey lingered around the dinner table at Ingleside, talking of the war, the telephone had rung. It was a long-distance call from Charlottetownfor Jem. When he had finished talking he hung up the receiver andturned around, with a flushed face and glowing eyes. Before he had saida word his mother and Nan and Di had turned pale. As for Rilla, for thefirst time in her life she felt that every one must hear her heartbeating and that something had clutched at her throat. 

"They are calling for volunteers in town, father, " said Jem. "Scoreshave joined up already. I'm going in tonight to enlist. "

"Oh--Little Jem, " cried Mrs. Blythe brokenly. She had not called himthat for many years--not since the day he had rebelled against it. "Oh--no--no--Little Jem. "

"I must, mother. I'm right--am I not, father?" said Jem. 

Dr. Blythe had risen. He was very pale, too, and his voice was husky. But he did not hesitate. 

"Yes, Jem, yes--if you feel that way, yes--"

Mrs. Blythe covered her face. Walter stared moodily at his plate. Nanand Di clasped each others' hands. Shirley tried to look unconcerned. Susan sat as if paralysed, her piece of pie half-eaten on her plate. Susan never did finish that piece of pie--a fact which bore eloquenttestimony to the upheaval in her inner woman for Susan considered it acardinal offence against civilized society to begin to eat anything andnot finish it. That was wilful waste, hens to the contrarynotwithstanding. 

Jem turned to the phone again. "I must ring the manse. Jerry will wantto go, too. "

At this Nan had cried out "Oh!" as if a knife had been thrust into her, and rushed from the room. Di followed her. Rilla turned to Walter forcomfort but Walter was lost to her in some reverie she could not share. 

"All right, " Jem was saying, as coolly as if he were arranging thedetails of a picnic. "I thought you would--yes, tonight--the seveno'clock--meet me at the station. So long. "

"Mrs. Dr. Dear, " said Susan. "I wish you would wake me up. Am Idreaming--or am I awake? Does that blessed boy realize what he issaying? Does he mean that he is going to enlist as a soldier? You donot mean to tell me that they want children like him! It is an outrage. Surely you and the doctor will not permit it. "

"We can't stop him, " said Mrs. Blythe, chokingly. "Oh, Gilbert!"

Dr. Blythe came up behind his wife and took her hand gently, lookingdown into the sweet grey eyes that he had only once before seen filledwith such imploring anguish as now. They both thought of that othertime--the day years ago in the House of Dreams when little Joyce haddied. 

"Would you have him stay, Anne--when the others are going--when hethinks it his duty--would you have him so selfish and small-souled?"

"No--no! But--oh--our first-born son--he's only a lad--Gilbert--I'lltry to be brave after a while--just now I can't. It's all come sosuddenly. Give me time. "

The doctor and his wife went out of the room. Jem had gone--Walter hadgone--Shirley got up to go. Rilla and Susan remained staring at eachother across the deserted table. Rilla had not yet cried--she was toostunned for tears. Then she saw that Susan was crying--Susan, whom shehad never seen shed a tear before. 

"Oh, Susan, will he really go?" she asked. 

"It--it--it is just ridiculous, that is what it is, " said Susan. 

She wiped away her tears, gulped resolutely and got up. 

"I am going to wash the dishes. That has to be done, even if everybodyhas gone crazy. There now, dearie, do not you cry. Jem will go, mostlikely--but the war will be over long before he gets anywhere near it. Let us take a brace and not worry your poor mother. "

"In the Enterprise today it was reported that Lord Kitchener says thewar will last three years, " said Rilla dubiously. 

"I am not acquainted with Lord Kitchener, " said Susan, composedly, "butI dare say he makes mistakes as often as other people. Your father saysit will be over in a few months and I have as much faith in his opinionas I have in Lord Anybody's. So just let us be calm and trust in theAlmighty and get this place tidied up. I am done with crying which is awaste of time and discourages everybody. "

Jem and Jerry went to Charlottetown that night and two days later theycame back in khaki. The Glen hummed with excitement over it. Life atIngleside had suddenly become a tense, strained, thrilling thing. Mrs. Blythe and Nan were brave and smiling and wonderful. Already Mrs. Blythe and Miss Cornelia were organizing a Red Cross. The doctor andMr. Meredith were rounding up the men for a Patriotic Society. Rilla, after the first shock, reacted to the romance of it all, in spite ofher heartache. Jem certainly looked magnificent in his uniform. It wassplendid to think of the lads of Canada answering so speedily andfearlessly and uncalculatingly to the call of their country. Rillacarried her head high among the girls whose brothers had not soresponded. In her diary she wrote:

 "He goes to do what I had done Had Douglas's daughter been his son, "

and was sure she meant it. If she were a boy of course she would go, too! She hadn't the least doubt of that. 

She wondered if it was very dreadful of her to feel glad that Walterhadn't got strong as soon as they had wished after the fever. 

"I couldn't bear to have Walter go, " she wrote. "I love Jem ever somuch but Walter means more to me than anyone in the world and I woulddie if he had to go. He seems so changed these days. He hardly evertalks to me. I suppose he wants to go, too, and feels badly because hecan't. He doesn't go about with Jem and Jerry at all. I shall neverforget Susan's face when Jem came home in his khaki. It worked andtwisted as if she were going to cry, but all she said was, 'You lookalmost like a man in that, Jem. ' Jem laughed. He never minds becauseSusan thinks him just a child still. Everybody seems busy but me. Iwish there was something I could do but there doesn't seem to beanything. Mother and Nan and Di are busy all the time and I just wanderabout like a lonely ghost. What hurts me terribly, though, is thatmother's smiles, and Nan's, just seem put on from the outside. Mother'seyes never laugh now. It makes me feel that I shouldn't laugheither--that it's wicked to feel laughy. And it's so hard for me tokeep from laughing, even if Jem is going to be a soldier. But when Ilaugh I don't enjoy it either, as I used to do. There's somethingbehind it all that keeps hurting me--especially when I wake up in thenight. Then I cry because I am afraid that Kitchener of Khartoum isright and the war will last for years and Jem may be--but no, I won'twrite it. It would make me feel as if it were really going to happen. The other day Nan said, 'Nothing can ever be quite the same for any ofus again. ' It made me feel rebellious. Why shouldn't things be the sameagain--when everything is over and Jem and Jerry are back? We'll all behappy and jolly again and these days will seem just like a bad dream. 

"The coming of the mail is the most exciting event of every day now. Father just snatches the paper--I never saw father snatch before--andthe rest of us crowd round and look at the headlines over his shoulder. Susan vows she does not and will not believe a word the papers say butshe always comes to the kitchen door, and listens and then goes back, shaking her head. She is terribly indignant all the time, but she cooksup all the things Jem likes especially, and she did not make a singlebit of fuss when she found Monday asleep on the spare-room bedyesterday right on top of Mrs. Rachel Lynde's apple-leaf spread. 'TheAlmighty only knows where your master will be having to sleep beforelong, you poor dumb beast, ' she said as she put him quite gently out. But she never relents towards Doc. She says the minute he saw Jem inkhaki he turned into Mr. Hyde then and there and she thinks that oughtto be proof enough of what he really is. Susan is funny, but she is anold dear. Shirley says she is one half angel and the other half goodcook. But then Shirley is the only one of us she never scolds. 

"Faith Meredith is wonderful. I think she and Jem are really engagednow. She goes about with a shining light in her eyes, but her smilesare a little stiff and starched, just like mother's. I wonder if Icould be as brave as she is if I had a lover and he was going to thewar. It is bad enough when it is your brother. Bruce Meredith cried allnight, Mrs. Meredith says, when he heard Jem and Jerry were going. Andhe wanted to know if the 'K of K. ' his father talked about was the Kingof Kings. He is the dearest kiddy. I just love him--though I don'treally care much for children. I don't like babies one bit--though whenI say so people look at me as if I had said something perfectlyshocking. Well, I don't, and I've got to be honest about it. I don'tmind looking at a nice clean baby if somebody else holds it--but Iwouldn't touch it for anything and I don't feel a single real spark ofinterest in it. Gertrude Oliver says she just feels the same. (She isthe most honest person I know. She never pretends anything. ) She saysbabies bore her until they are old enough to talk and then she likesthem--but still a good ways off. Mother and Nan and Di all adore babiesand seem to think I'm unnatural because I don't. 

"I haven't seen Kenneth since the night of the party. He was here oneevening after Jem came back but I happened to be away. I don't think hementioned me at all--at least nobody told me he did and I wasdetermined I wouldn't ask--but I don't care in the least. All thatmatters absolutely nothing to me now. The only thing that does matteris that Jem has volunteered for active service and will be going toValcartier in a few more days--my big, splendid brother Jem. Oh, I'm soproud of him!

"I suppose Kenneth would enlist too if it weren't for his ankle. Ithink that is quite providential. He is his mother's only son and howdreadful she would feel if he went. Only sons should never think ofgoing!"

Walter came wandering through the valley as Rilla sat there, with hishead bent and his hands clasped behind him. When he saw Rilla he turnedabruptly away; then as abruptly he turned and came back to her. 

"Rilla-my-Rilla, what are you thinking of?"

"Everything is so changed, Walter, " said Rilla wistfully. "Evenyou--you're changed. A week ago we were all so happy--and--and--now Ijust can't find myself at all. I'm lost. "

Walter sat down on a neighbouring stone and took Rilla's littleappealing hand. 

"I'm afraid our old world has come to an end, Rilla. We've got to facethat fact. "

"It's so terrible to think of Jem, " pleaded Rilla. "Sometimes I forgetfor a little while what it really means and feel excited and proud--andthen it comes over me again like a cold wind. "

"I envy Jem!" said Walter moodily. 

"Envy Jem! Oh, Walter you--you don't want to go too. "

"No, " said Walter, gazing straight before him down the emerald vistasof the valley, "no, I don't want to go. That's just the trouble. Rilla, I'm afraid to go. I'm a coward. "

"You're not!" Rilla burst out angrily. "Why, anybody would be afraid togo. You might be--why, you might be killed. "

"I wouldn't mind that if it didn't hurt, " muttered Walter. "I don'tthink I'm afraid of death itself--it's of the pain that might comebefore death--it wouldn't be so bad to die and have it over--but tokeep on dying! Rilla, I've always been afraid of pain--you know that. Ican't help it--I shudder when I think of the possibility of beingmangled or--or blinded. Rilla, I cannot face that thought. To beblind--never to see the beauty of the world again--moonlight on FourWinds--the stars twinkling through the fir-trees--mist on the gulf. Iought to go--I ought to want to go--but I don't--I hate the thought ofit--I'm ashamed--ashamed. "

"But, Walter, you couldn't go anyhow, " said Rilla piteously. She wassick with a new terror that Walter would go after all. "You're notstrong enough. "

"I am. I've felt as fit as ever I did this last month. I'd pass anyexamination--I know it. Everybody thinks I'm not strong yet--and I'mskulking behind that belief. I--I should have been a girl, " Walterconcluded in a burst of passionate bitterness. 

"Even if you were strong enough, you oughtn't to go, " sobbed Rilla. "What would mother do? She's breaking her heart over Jem. It would killher to see you both go. "

"Oh, I'm not going--don't worry. I tell you I'm afraid to go--afraid. Idon't mince the matter to myself. It's a relief to own up even to you, Rilla. I wouldn't confess it to anybody else--Nan and Di would despiseme. But I hate the whole thing--the horror, the pain, the ugliness. Warisn't a khaki uniform or a drill parade--everything I've read in oldhistories haunts me. I lie awake at night and see things that havehappened--see the blood and filth and misery of it all. And a bayonetcharge! If I could face the other things I could never face that. Itturns me sick to think of it--sicker even to think of giving it thanreceiving it--to think of thrusting a bayonet through another man. "Walter writhed and shuddered. "I think of these things all thetime--and it doesn't seem to me that Jem and Jerry ever think of them. They laugh and talk about 'potting Huns'! But it maddens me to see themin the khaki. And they think I'm grumpy because I'm not fit to go. "

Walter laughed bitterly. "It is not a nice thing to feel yourself acoward. " But Rilla got her arms about him and cuddled her head on hisshoulder. She was so glad he didn't want to go--for just one minute shehad been horribly frightened. And it was so nice to have Walterconfiding his troubles to her--to her, not Di. She didn't feel solonely and superfluous any longer. 

"Don't you despise me, Rilla-my-Rilla?" asked Walter wistfully. Somehow, it hurt him to think Rilla might despise him--hurt him as muchas if it had been Di. He realized suddenly how very fond he was of thisadoring kid sister with her appealing eyes and troubled, girlish face. 

"No, I don't. Why, Walter, hundreds of people feel just as you do. Youknow what that verse of Shakespeare in the old Fifth Reader says--'thebrave man is not he who feels no fear. '"

"No--but it is 'he whose noble soul its fear subdues. ' I don't do that. We can't gloss it over, Rilla. I'm a coward. "

"You're not. Think of how you fought Dan Reese long ago. "

"One spurt of courage isn't enough for a lifetime. "

"Walter, one time I heard father say that the trouble with you was asensitive nature and a vivid imagination. You feel things before theyreally come--feel them all alone when there isn't anything to help youbear them--to take away from them. It isn't anything to be ashamed of. When you and Jem got your hands burned when the grass was fired on thesand-hills two years ago Jem made twice the fuss over the pain that youdid. As for this horrid old war, there'll be plenty to go without you. It won't last long. "

"I wish I could believe it. Well, it's supper-time, Rilla. You'd betterrun. I don't want anything. "

"Neither do I. I couldn't eat a mouthful. Let me stay here with you, Walter. It's such a comfort to talk things over with someone. The restall think that I'm too much of a baby to understand. "

So they two sat there in the old valley until the evening star shonethrough a pale-grey, gauzy cloud over the maple grove, and a fragrantdewy darkness filled their little sylvan dell. It was one of theevenings Rilla was to treasure in remembrance all her life--the firstone on which Walter had ever talked to her as if she were a woman andnot a child. They comforted and strengthened each other. Walter felt, for the time being at least, that it was not such a despicable thingafter all to dread the horror of war; and Rilla was glad to be made theconfidante of his struggles--to sympathize with and encourage him. Shewas of importance to somebody. 

When they went back to Ingleside they found callers sitting on theveranda. Mr. And Mrs. Meredith had come over from the manse, and Mr. And Mrs. Norman Douglas had come up from the farm. Cousin Sophia wasthere also, sitting with Susan in the shadowy background. Mrs. Blytheand Nan and Di were away, but Dr. Blythe was home and so was Dr. Jekyll, sitting in golden majesty on the top step. And of course theywere all talking of the war, except Dr. Jekyll who kept his own counseland looked contempt as only a cat can. When two people foregathered inthose days they talked of the war; and old Highland Sandy of theHarbour Head talked of it when he was alone and hurled anathemas at theKaiser across all the acres of his farm. Walter slipped away, notcaring to see or be seen, but Rilla sat down on the steps, where thegarden mint was dewy and pungent. It was a very calm evening with adim, golden afterlight irradiating the glen. She felt happier than atany time in the dreadful week that had passed. She was no longerhaunted by the fear that Walter would go. 

"I'd go myself if I was twenty years younger, " Norman Douglas wasshouting. Norman always shouted when he was excited. "I'd show theKaiser a thing or two! Did I ever say there wasn't a hell? Of coursethere's a hell--dozens of hells--hundreds of hells--where the Kaiserand all his brood are bound for. "

"I knew this war was coming, " said Mrs. Norman triumphantly. "I saw itcoming right along. I could have told all those stupid Englishmen whatwas ahead of them. I told you, John Meredith, years ago what the Kaiserwas up to but you wouldn't believe it. You said he would never plungethe world in war. Who was right about the Kaiser, John? You--or I? Tellme that. "

"You were, I admit, " said Mr. Meredith. 

"It's too late to admit it now, " said Mrs. Norman, shaking her head, asif to intimate that if John Meredith had admitted it sooner there mighthave been no war. 

"Thank God, England's navy is ready, " said the doctor. 

"Amen to that, " nodded Mrs. Norman. "Bat-blind as most of them weresomebody had foresight enough to see to that. "

"Maybe England'll manage not to get into trouble over it, " said CousinSophia plaintively. "I dunno. But I'm much afraid. "

"One would suppose that England was in trouble over it already, up toher neck, Sophia Crawford, " said Susan. "But your ways of thinking arebeyond me and always were. It is my opinion that the British Navy willsettle Germany in a jiffy and that we are all getting worked up overnothing. "

Susan spat out the words as if she wanted to convince herself more thananybody else. She had her little store of homely philosophies to guideher through life, but she had nothing to buckler her against thethunderbolts of the week that had just passed. What had an honest, hard-working, Presbyterian old maid of Glen St. Mary to do with a warthousands of miles away? Susan felt that it was indecent that sheshould have to be disturbed by it. 

"The British army will settle Germany, " shouted Norman. "Just wait tillit gets into line and the Kaiser will find that real war is a differentthing from parading round Berlin with your moustaches cocked up. "

"Britain hasn't got an army, " said Mrs. Norman emphatically. "Youneedn't glare at me, Norman. Glaring won't make soldiers out of timothystalks. A hundred thousand men will just be a mouthful for Germany'smillions. "

"There'll be some tough chewing in the mouthful, I reckon, " persistedNorman valiantly. "Germany'll break her teeth on it. Don't you tell meone Britisher isn't a match for ten foreigners. I could polish off adozen of 'em myself with both hands tied behind my back!"

"I am told, " said Susan, "that old Mr. Pryor does not believe in thiswar. I am told that he says England went into it just because she wasjealous of Germany and that she did not really care in the least whathappened to Belgium. "

"I believe he's been talking some such rot, " said Norman. "I haven'theard him. When I do, Whiskers-on-the-moon won't know what happened tohim. That precious relative of mine, Kitty Alec, holds forth to thesame effect, I understand. Not before me, though--somehow, folks don'tindulge in that kind of conversation in my presence. Lord love you, they've a kind of presentiment, so to speak, that it wouldn't behealthy for their complaint. "

"I am much afraid that this war has been sent as a punishment for oursins, " said Cousin Sophia, unclasping her pale hands from her lap andreclasping them solemnly over her stomach. "'The world is veryevil--the times are waxing late. '"

"Parson here's got something of the same idea, " chuckled Norman. "Haven't you, Parson? That's why you preached t'other night on the text'Without shedding of blood there is no remission of sins. ' I didn'tagree with you--wanted to get up in the pew and shout out that therewasn't a word of sense in what you were saying, but Ellen, here, sheheld me down. I never have any fun sassing parsons since I got married. "

"Without shedding of blood there is no anything, " said Mr. Meredith, inthe gentle dreamy way which had an unexpected trick of convincing hishearers. "Everything, it seems to me, has to be purchased byself-sacrifice. Our race has marked every step of its painful ascentwith blood. And now torrents of it must flow again. No, Mrs. Crawford, I don't think the war has been sent as a punishment for sin. I think itis the price humanity must pay for some blessing--some advance greatenough to be worth the price--which we may not live to see but whichour children's children will inherit. "

"If Jerry is killed will you feel so fine about it?" demanded Norman, who had been saying things like that all his life and never could bemade to see any reason why he shouldn't. "Now, never mind kicking me inthe shins, Ellen. I want to see if Parson meant what he said or if itwas just a pulpit frill. "

Mr. Meredith's face quivered. He had had a terrible hour alone in hisstudy on the night Jem and Jerry had gone to town. But he answeredquietly. 

"Whatever I felt, it could not alter my belief--my assurance that acountry whose sons are ready to lay down their lives in her defencewill win a new vision because of their sacrifice. "

"You do mean it, Parson. I can always tell when people mean what theysay. It's a gift that was born in me. Makes me a terror to mostparsons, that! But I've never caught you yet saying anything you didn'tmean. I'm always hoping I will--that's what reconciles me to going tochurch. It'd be such a comfort to me--such a weapon to batter Ellenhere with when she tries to civilize me. Well, I'm off over the road tosee Ab. Crawford a minute. The gods be good to you all. "

"The old pagan!" muttered Susan, as Norman strode away. She did notcare if Ellen Douglas did hear her. Susan could never understand whyfire did not descend from heaven upon Norman Douglas when he insultedministers the way he did. But the astonishing thing was Mr. Meredithseemed really to like his brother-in-law. 

Rilla wished they would talk of something besides war. She had heardnothing else for a week and she was really a little tired of it. Nowthat she was relieved from her haunting fear that Walter would want togo it made her quite impatient. But she supposed--with a sigh--thatthere would be three or four months of it yet. 

CHAPTER VI

SUSAN, RILLA, AND DOG MONDAY MAKE A RESOLUTION

The big living-room at Ingleside was snowed over with drifts of whitecotton. Word had come from Red Cross headquarters that sheets andbandages would be required. Nan and Di and Rilla were hard at work. Mrs. Blythe and Susan were upstairs in the boys' room, engaged in amore personal task. With dry, anguished eyes they were packing up Jem'sbelongings. He must leave for Valcartier the next morning. They hadbeen expecting the word but it was none the less dreadful when it came. 

Rilla was basting the hem of a sheet for the first time in her life. When the word had come that Jem must go she had her cry out among thepines in Rainbow Valley and then she had gone to her mother. 

"Mother, I want to do something. I'm only a girl--I can't do anythingto win the war--but I must do something to help at home. "

"The cotton has come up for the sheets, " said Mrs. Blythe. "You canhelp Nan and Di make them up. And Rilla, don't you think you couldorganize a Junior Red Cross among the young girls? I think they wouldlike it better and do better work by themselves than if mixed up withthe older people. "

"But, mother--I've never done anything like that. "

"We will all have to do a great many things in the months ahead of usthat we have never done before, Rilla. "

"Well"--Rilla took the plunge--"I'll try, mother--if you'll tell me howto begin. I have been thinking it all over and I have decided that Imust be as brave and heroic and unselfish as I can possibly be. "

Mrs. Blythe did not smile at Rilla's italics. Perhaps she did not feellike smiling or perhaps she detected a real grain of serious purposebehind Rilla's romantic pose. So here was Rilla hemming sheets andorganizing a Junior Red Cross in her thoughts as she hemmed; moreover, she was enjoying it--the organizing that is, not the hemming. It wasinteresting and Rilla discovered a certain aptitude in herself for itthat surprised her. Who would be president? Not she. The older girlswould not like that. Irene Howard? No, somehow Irene was not quite aspopular as she deserved to be. Marjorie Drew? No, Marjorie hadn'tenough backbone. She was too prone to agree with the last speaker. Betty Mead--calm, capable, tactful Betty--the very one! And UnaMeredith for treasurer; and, if they were very insistent, they mightmake her, Rilla, secretary. As for the various committees, they must bechosen after the Juniors were organized, but Rilla knew just who shouldbe put on which. They would meet around--and there must be noeats--Rilla knew she would have a pitched battle with Olive Kirk overthat--and everything should be strictly business-like andconstitutional. Her minute book should be covered in white with a RedCross on the cover--and wouldn't it be nice to have some kind ofuniform which they could all wear at the concerts they would have toget up to raise money--something simple but smart?

"You have basted the top hem of that sheet on one side and the bottomhem on the other, " said Di. 

Rilla picked out her stitches and reflected that she hated sewing. Running the Junior Reds would be much more interesting. 

Mrs. Blythe was saying upstairs, "Susan, do you remember that first dayJem lifted up his little arms to me and called me 'mo'er'--the veryfirst word he ever tried to say?"

"You could not mention anything about that blessed baby that I do notand will not remember till my dying day, " said Susan drearily. 

"Susan, I keep thinking today of once when he cried for me in thenight. He was just a few months old. Gilbert didn't want me to go tohim--he said the child was well and warm and that it would be fosteringbad habits in him. But I went--and took him up--I can feel that tightclinging of his little arms round my neck yet. Susan, if I hadn't gonethat night, twenty-one years ago, and taken my baby up when he criedfor me I couldn't face tomorrow morning. "

"I do not know how we are going to face it anyhow, Mrs. Dr. Dear. Butdo not tell me that it will be the final farewell. He will be back onleave before he goes overseas, will he not?"

"We hope so but we are not very sure. I am making up my mind that hewill not, so that there will be no disappointment to bear. Susan, I amdetermined that I will send my boy off tomorrow with a smile. He shallnot carry away with him the remembrance of a weak mother who had notthe courage to send when he had the courage to go. I hope none of uswill cry. "

"I am not going to cry, Mrs. Dr. Dear, and that you may tie to, butwhether I shall manage to smile or not will be as Providence ordainsand as the pit of my stomach feels. Have you room there for thisfruit-cake? And the shortbread? And the mince-pie? That blessed boyshall not starve, whether they have anything to eat in that Quebecplace or not. Everything seems to be changing all at once, does it not?Even the old cat at the manse has passed away. He breathed his last ata quarter to ten last night and Bruce is quite heart-broken, they tellme. "

"It's time that pussy went where good cats go. He must be at leastfifteen years old. He has seemed so lonely since Aunt Martha died. "

"I should not have lamented, Mrs. Dr. Dear, if that Hyde-beast had diedalso. He has been Mr. Hyde most of the time since Jem came home inkhaki, and that has a meaning I will maintain. I do not know whatMonday will do when Jem is gone. The creature just goes about with ahuman look in his eyes that takes all the good out of me when I see it. Ellen West used to be always railing at the Kaiser and we thought hercrazy, but now I see that there was a method in her madness. This trayis packed, Mrs. Dr. Dear, and I will go down and put in my best lickspreparing supper. I wish I knew when I would cook another supper forJem but such things are hidden from our eyes. "

Jem Blythe and Jerry Meredith left next morning. It was a dull day, threatening rain, and the clouds lay in heavy grey rolls over the sky;but almost everybody in the Glen and Four Winds and Harbour Head andUpper Glen and over-harbour--except Whiskers-on-the-moon--was there tosee them off. The Blythe family and the Meredith family were allsmiling. Even Susan, as Providence did ordain, wore a smile, though theeffect was somewhat more painful than tears would have been. Faith andNan were very pale and very gallant. Rilla thought she would get onvery well if something in her throat didn't choke her, and if her lipsdidn't take such spells of trembling. Dog Monday was there, too. Jemhad tried to say good-bye to him at Ingleside but Monday implored soeloquently that Jem relented and let him go to the station. He keptclose to Jem's legs and watched every movement of his beloved master. 

"I can't bear that dog's eyes, " said Mrs. Meredith. 

"The beast has more sense than most humans, " said Mary Vance. "Well, did we any of us ever think we'd live to see this day? I bawled allnight to think of Jem and Jerry going like this. I think they're plumbderanged. Miller got a maggot in his head about going but I soon talkedhim out of it--likewise his aunt said a few touching things. For oncein our lives Kitty Alec and I agree. It's a miracle that isn't likelyto happen again. There's Ken, Rilla. "

Rilla knew Kenneth was there. She had been acutely conscious of it fromthe moment he had sprung from Leo West's buggy. Now he came up to hersmiling. 

"Doing the brave-smiling-sister-stunt, I see. What a crowd for the Glento muster! Well, I'm off home in a few days myself. "

A queer little wind of desolation that even Jem's going had not causedblew over Rilla's spirit. 

"Why? You have another month of vacation. "

"Yes--but I can't hang around Four Winds and enjoy myself when theworld's on fire like this. It's me for little old Toronto where I'llfind some way of helping in spite of this bally ankle. I'm not lookingat Jem and Jerry--makes me too sick with envy. You girls are great--nocrying, no grim endurance. The boys'll go off with a good taste intheir mouths. I hope Persis and mother will be as game when my turncomes. "

"Oh, Kenneth--the war will be over before your turn cometh. "

There! She had lisped again. Another great moment of life spoiled!Well, it was her fate. And anyhow, nothing mattered. Kenneth was offalready--he was talking to Ethel Reese, who was dressed, at seven inthe morning, in the gown she had worn to the dance, and was crying. What on earth had Ethel to cry about? None of the Reeses were in khaki. Rilla wanted to cry, too--but she would not. What was that horrid oldMrs. Drew saying to mother, in that melancholy whine of hers? "I don'tknow how you can stand this, Mrs. Blythe. I couldn't if it was my poreboy. " And mother--oh, mother could always be depended on! How her greyeyes flashed in her pale face. "It might have been worse, Mrs. Drew. Imight have had to urge him to go. " Mrs. Drew did not understand butRilla did. She flung up her head. Her brother did not have to be urgedto go. 

Rilla found herself standing alone and listening to disconnected scrapsof talk as people walked up and down past her. 

"I told Mark to wait and see if they asked for a second lot of men. Ifthey did I'd let him go--but they won't, " said Mrs. Palmer Burr. 

"I think I'll have it made with a crush girdle of velvet, " said BessieClow. 

"I'm frightened to look at my husband's face for fear I'll see in itthat he wants to go too, " said a little over-harbour bride. 

"I'm scared stiff, " said whimsical Mrs. Jim Howard. "I'm scared Jimwill enlist--and I'm scared he won't. "

"The war will be over by Christmas, " said Joe Vickers. 

"Let them European nations fight it out between them, " said Abner Reese. 

"When he was a boy I gave him many a good trouncing, " shouted NormanDouglas, who seemed to be referring to some one high in militarycircles in Charlottetown. "Yes, sir, I walloped him well, big gun as heis now. "

"The existence of the British Empire is at stake, " said the Methodistminister. 

"There's certainly something about uniforms, " sighed Irene Howard. 

"It's a commercial war when all is said and done and not worth one dropof good Canadian blood, " said a stranger from the shore hotel. 

"The Blythe family are taking it easy, " said Kate Drew. 

"Them young fools are just going for adventure, " growled NathanCrawford. 

"I have absolute confidence in Kitchener, " said the over-harbour doctor. 

In these ten minutes Rilla passed through a dizzying succession ofanger, laughter, contempt, depression and inspiration. Oh, peoplewere--funny! How little they understood. "Taking it easy, " indeed--wheneven Susan hadn't slept a wink all night! Kate Drew always was a minx. 

Rilla felt as if she were in some fantastic nightmare. Were these thepeople who, three weeks ago, were talking of crops and prices and localgossip?

There--the train was coming--mother was holding Jem's hand--Dog Mondaywas licking it--everybody was saying good-bye--the train was in! Jemkissed Faith before everybody--old Mrs. Drew whooped hysterically--themen, led by Kenneth, cheered--Rilla felt Jem seize her hand--"Good-bye, Spider"--somebody kissed her cheek--she believed it was Jerry but neverwas sure--they were off--the train was pulling out--Jem and Jerry werewaving to everybody--everybody was waving back--mother and Nan weresmiling still, but as if they had just forgotten to take the smileoff--Monday was howling dismally and being forcibly restrained by theMethodist minister from tearing after the train--Susan was waving herbest bonnet and hurrahing like a man--had she gone crazy?--the trainrounded a curve. They had gone. 

Rilla came to herself with a gasp. There was a sudden quiet. Nothing todo now but to go home--and wait. The doctor and Mrs. Blythe walked offtogether--so did Nan and Faith--so did John Meredith and Rosemary. Walter and Una and Shirley and Di and Carl and Rilla went in a group. Susan had put her bonnet back on her head, hindside foremost, andstalked grimly off alone. Nobody missed Dog Monday at first. When theydid Shirley went back for him. He found Dog Monday curled up in one ofthe shipping-sheds near the station and tried to coax him home. DogMonday would not move. He wagged his tail to show he had no hardfeelings but no blandishments availed to budge him. 

"Guess Monday has made up his mind to wait there till Jem comes back, "said Shirley, trying to laugh as he rejoined the rest. This was exactlywhat Dog Monday had done. His dear master had gone--he, Monday, hadbeen deliberately and of malice aforethought prevented from going withhim by a demon disguised in the garb of a Methodist minister. Wherefore, he, Monday, would wait there until the smoking, snortingmonster, which had carried his hero off, carried him back. 

Ay, wait there, little faithful dog with the soft, wistful, puzzledeyes. But it will be many a long bitter day before your boyish comradecomes back to you. 

The doctor was away on a case that night and Susan stalked into Mrs. Blythe's room on her way to bed to see if her adored Mrs. Dr. Dear were"comfortable and composed. " She paused solemnly at the foot of the bedand solemnly declared, "Mrs. Dr. Dear, I have made up my mind to be a heroine. "

"Mrs. Dr. Dear" found herself violently inclined to laugh--which wasmanifestly unfair, since she had not laughed when Rilla had announced asimilar heroic determination. To be sure, Rilla was a slim, white-robedthing, with a flower-like face and starry young eyes aglow withfeeling; whereas Susan was arrayed in a grey flannel nightgown ofstrait simplicity, and had a strip of red woollen worsted tied aroundher grey hair as a charm against neuralgia. But that should not makeany vital difference. Was it not the spirit that counted? Yet Mrs. Blythe was hard put to it not to laugh. 

"I am not, " proceeded Susan firmly, "going to lament or whine orquestion the wisdom of the Almighty any more as I have been doinglately. Whining and shirking and blaming Providence do not get usanywhere. We have just got to grapple with whatever we have to dowhether it is weeding the onion patch, or running the Government. Ishall grapple. Those blessed boys have gone to war; and we women, Mrs. Dr. Dear, must tarry by the stuff and keep a stiff upper lip. "

CHAPTER VII

A WAR-BABY AND A SOUP TUREEN

"Liege and Namur--and now Brussels!" The doctor shook his head. "Idon't like it--I don't like it. "

"Do not you lose heart, Dr. Dear; they were just defended byforeigners, " said Susan superbly. "Wait you till the Germans comeagainst the British; there will be a very different story to tell andthat you may tie to. "

The doctor shook his head again, but a little less gravely; perhapsthey all shared subconsciously in Susan's belief that "the thin greyline" was unbreakable, even by the victorious rush of Germany's readymillions. At any rate, when the terrible day came--the first of manyterrible days--with the news that the British army was driven back theystared at each other in blank dismay. 

"It--it can't be true, " gasped Nan, taking a brief refuge in temporaryincredulity. 

"I felt that there was to be bad news today, " said Susan, "for thatcat-creature turned into Mr. Hyde this morning without rhyme or reasonfor it, and that was no good omen. "

"'A broken, a beaten, but not a demoralized, army, '" muttered thedoctor, from a London dispatch. "Can it be England's army of which sucha thing is said?"

"It will be a long time now before the war is ended, " said Mrs. Blythedespairingly. 

Susan's faith, which had for a moment been temporarily submerged, nowreappeared triumphantly. 

"Remember, Mrs. Dr. Dear, that the British army is not the Britishnavy. Never forget that. And the Russians are on their way, too, thoughRussians are people I do not know much about and consequently will nottie to. "

"The Russians will not be in time to save Paris, " said Walter gloomily. "Paris is the heart of France--and the road to it is open. Oh, Iwish"--he stopped abruptly and went out. 

After a paralysed day the Ingleside folk found it was possible to"carry on" even in the face of ever-darkening bad news. Susan workedfiercely in her kitchen, the doctor went out on his round of visits, Nan and Di returned to their Red Cross activities; Mrs. Blythe went toCharlottetown to attend a Red Cross Convention; Rilla after relievingher feelings by a stormy fit of tears in Rainbow Valley and an outburstin her diary, remembered that she had elected to be brave and heroic. And, she thought, it really was heroic to volunteer to drive about theGlen and Four Winds one day, collecting promised Red Cross supplieswith Abner Crawford's old grey horse. One of the Ingleside horses waslame and the doctor needed the other, so there was nothing for it butthe Crawford nag, a placid, unhasting, thick-skinned creature with anamiable habit of stopping every few yards to kick a fly off one legwith the foot of the other. Rilla felt that this, coupled with the factthat the Germans were only fifty miles from Paris, was hardly to beendured. But she started off gallantly on an errand fraught withamazing results. 

Late in the afternoon she found herself, with a buggy full of parcels, at the entrance to a grassy, deep-rutted lane leading to the harbourshore, wondering whether it was worth while to call down at theAnderson house. The Andersons were desperately poor and it was notlikely Mrs. Anderson had anything to give. On the other hand, herhusband, who was an Englishman by birth and who had been working inKingsport when the war broke out, had promptly sailed for England toenlist there, without, it may be said, coming home or sending much hardcash to represent him. So possibly Mrs. Anderson might feel hurt if shewere overlooked. Rilla decided to call. There were times afterwardswhen she wished she hadn't, but in the long run she was very thankfulthat she did. 

The Anderson house was a small and tumbledown affair, crouching in agrove of battered spruces near the shore as if rather ashamed of itselfand anxious to hide. Rilla tied her grey nag to the rickety fence andwent to the door. It was open; and the sight she saw bereft hertemporarily of the power of speech or motion. 

Through the open door of the small bedroom opposite her, Rilla saw Mrs. Anderson lying on the untidy bed; and Mrs. Anderson was dead. There wasno doubt of that; neither was there any doubt that the big, frowzy, red-headed, red-faced, over-fat woman sitting near the door-way, smoking a pipe quite comfortably, was very much alive. She rocked idlyback and forth amid her surroundings of squalid disorder, and paid noattention whatever to the piercing wails proceeding from a cradle inthe middle of the room. 

Rilla knew the woman by sight and reputation. Her name was Mrs. Conover; she lived down at the fishing village; she was a great-aunt ofMrs. Anderson; and she drank as well as smoked. 

Rilla's first impulse was to turn and flee. But that would never do. Perhaps this woman, repulsive as she was, needed help--though shecertainly did not look as if she were worrying over the lack of it. 

"Come in, " said Mrs. Conover, removing her pipe and staring at Rillawith her little, rat-like eyes. 

"Is--is Mrs. Anderson really dead?" asked Rilla timidly, as she steppedover the sill. 

"Dead as a door nail, " responded Mrs. Conover cheerfully. "Kicked thebucket half an hour ago. I've sent Jen Conover to 'phone for theundertaker and get some help up from the shore. You're the doctor'smiss, ain't ye? Have a cheer?"

Rilla did not see any chair which was not cluttered with something. Sheremained standing. 

"Wasn't it--very sudden?"

"Well, she's been a-pining ever since that worthless Jim lit out forEngland--which I say it's a pity as he ever left. It's my belief shewas took for death when she heard the news. That young un there wasborn a fortnight ago and since then she's just gone down and today sheup and died, without a soul expecting it. "

"Is there anything I can do to--to help?" hesitated Rilla. 

"Bless yez, no--unless ye've a knack with kids. I haven't. That youngun there never lets up squalling, day or night. I've just got that Itake no notice of it. "

Rilla tiptoed gingerly over to the cradle and more gingerly stillpulled down the dirty blanket. She had no intention of touching thebaby--she had no "knack with kids" either. She saw an ugly midget witha red, distorted little face, rolled up in a piece of dingy oldflannel. She had never seen an uglier baby. Yet a feeling of pity forthe desolate, orphaned mite which had "come out of the everywhere" intosuch a dubious "here", took sudden possession of her. 

"What is going to become of the baby?" she asked. 

"Lord knows, " said Mrs. Conover candidly. "Min worried awful over thatbefore she died. She kept on a-saying 'Oh, what will become of my porebaby' till it really got on my nerves. I ain't a-going to troublemyself with it, I can tell yez. I brung up a boy that my sister leftand he skinned out as soon as he got to be some good and won't give mea mite o' help in my old age, ungrateful whelp as he is. I told Minit'd have to be sent to an orphan asylum till we'd see if Jim ever cameback to look after it. Would yez believe it, she didn't relish theidee. But that's the long and short of it. "

"But who will look after it until it can be taken to the asylum?"persisted Rilla. Somehow the baby's fate worried her. 

"S'pose I'll have to, " grunted Mrs. Conover. She put away her pipe andtook an unblushing swig from a black bottle she produced from a shelfnear her. "It's my opinion the kid won't live long. It's sickly. Minnever had no gimp and I guess it hain't either. Likely it won't troubleany one long and good riddance, sez I. "

Rilla drew the blanket down a little farther. 

"Why, the baby isn't dressed!" she exclaimed, in a shocked tone. 

"Who was to dress him I'd like to know, " demanded Mrs. Conovertruculently. "I hadn't time--took me all the time there was lookingafter Min. 'Sides, as I told yez, I don't know nithing about kids. OldMrs. Billy Crawford, she was here when it was born and she washed itand rolled it up in that flannel, and Jen she's tended it a bit since. The critter is warm enough. This weather would melt a brass monkey. "

Rilla was silent, looking down at the crying baby. She had neverencountered any of the tragedies of life before and this one smote herto the core of her heart. The thought of the poor mother going downinto the valley of the shadow alone, fretting about her baby, with noone near but this abominable old woman, hurt her terribly. If she hadonly come a little sooner! Yet what could she have done--what could shedo now? She didn't know, but she must do something. She hatedbabies--but she simply could not go away and leave that poor littlecreature with Mrs. Conover--who was applying herself again to her blackbottle and would probably be helplessly drunk before anybody came. 

"I can't stay, " thought Rilla. "Mr. Crawford said I must be home bysupper-time because he wanted the pony this evening himself. Oh, whatcan I do?"

She made a sudden, desperate, impulsive resolution. 

"I'll take the baby home with me, " she said. "Can I?"

"Sure, if yez wants to, " said Mrs. Conover amiably. "I hain't anyobjection. Take it and welcome. "

"I--I can't carry it, " said Rilla. "I have to drive the horse and I'dbe afraid I'd drop it. Is there a--a basket anywhere that I could putit in?"

"Not as I knows on. There ain't much here of anything, I kin tell yez. Min was pore and as shiftless as Jim. Ef ye opens that drawer overthere yez'll find a few baby clo'es. Best take them along. "

Rilla got the clothes--the cheap, sleazy garments the poor mother hadmade ready as best she could. But this did not solve the pressingproblem of the baby's transportation. Rilla looked helplessly round. Oh, for mother--or Susan! Her eyes fell on an enormous blue soup tureenat the back of the dresser. 

"May I have this to--to lay him in?" she asked. 

"Well, 'tain't mine but I guess yez kin take it. Don't smash it if yezcan help--Jim might make a fuss about it if he comes back alive--whichhe sure will, seein' he ain't any good. He brung that old tureen outfrom England with him--said it'd always been in the family. Him and Minnever used it--never had enough soup to put in it--but Jim thought theworld of it. He was mighty perticuler about some things but didn'tworry him none that there weren't much in the way o' eatables to put inthe dishes. "

For the first time in her life Rilla Blythe touched a baby--liftedit--rolled it in a blanket, trembling with nervousness lest she drop itor--or--break it. Then she put it in the soup tureen. 

"Is there any fear of it smothering?" she asked anxiously. 

"Not much odds if it do, " said Mrs. Conover. 

Horrified Rilla loosened the blanket round the baby's face a little. The mite had stopped crying and was blinking up at her. It had big darkeyes in its ugly little face. 

"Better not let the wind blow on it, " admonished Mrs. Conover. "Takeits breath if it do. "

Rilla wrapped the tattered little quilt around the soup tureen. 

"Will you hand this to me after I get into the buggy, please?"

"Sure I will, " said Mrs. Conover, getting up with a grunt. 

And so it was that Rilla Blythe, who had driven to the Anderson house aself-confessed hater of babies, drove away from it carrying one in asoup tureen on her lap!

Rilla thought she would never get to Ingleside. In the soup tureenthere was an uncanny silence. In one way she was thankful the baby didnot cry but she wished it would give an occasional squeak to prove thatit was alive. Suppose it were smothered! Rilla dared not unwrap it tosee, lest the wind, which was now blowing a hurricane, should "take itsbreath, " whatever dreadful thing that might be. She was a thankful girlwhen at last she reached harbour at Ingleside. 

Rilla carried the soup tureen to the kitchen, and set it on the tableunder Susan's eyes. Susan looked into the tureen and for once in herlife was so completely floored that she had not a word to say. 

"What in the world is this?" asked the doctor, coming in. 

Rilla poured out her story. "I just had to bring it, father, " sheconcluded. "I couldn't leave it there. "

"What are you going to do with it?" asked the doctor coolly. 

Rilla hadn't exactly expected this kind of question. 

"We--we can keep it here for awhile--can't we--until something can bearranged?" she stammered confusedly. 

Dr. Blythe walked up and down the kitchen for a moment or two while thebaby stared at the white walls of the soup tureen and Susan showedsigns of returning animation. 

Presently the doctor confronted Rilla. 

"A young baby means a great deal of additional work and trouble in ahousehold, Rilla. Nan and Di are leaving for Redmond next week andneither your mother nor Susan is able to assume so much extra careunder present conditions. If you want to keep that baby here you mustattend to it yourself. "

"Me!" Rilla was dismayed into being ungrammatical. "Why--father--I--Icouldn't!"

"Younger girls than you have had to look after babies. My advice andSusan's is at your disposal. If you cannot, then the baby must go backto Meg Conover. Its lease of life will be short if it does for it isevident that it is a delicate child and requires particular care. Idoubt if it would survive even if sent to an orphans' home. But Icannot have your mother and Susan over-taxed. "

The doctor walked out of the kitchen, looking very stern and immovable. In his heart he knew quite well that the small inhabitant of the bigsoup tureen would remain at Ingleside, but he meant to see if Rillacould not be induced to rise to the occasion. 

Rilla sat looking blankly at the baby. It was absurd to think she couldtake care of it. But--that poor little, frail, dead mother who hadworried about it--that dreadful old Meg Conover. 

"Susan, what must be done for a baby?" she asked dolefully. 

"You must keep it warm and dry and wash it every day, and be sure thewater is neither too hot nor too cold, and feed it every two hours. Ifit has colic, you put hot things on its stomach, " said Susan, ratherfeebly and flatly for her. 

The baby began to cry again. 

"It must be hungry--it has to be fed anyhow, " said Rilla desperately. "Tell me what to get for it, Susan, and I'll get it. "

Under Susan's directions a ration of milk and water was prepared, and abottle obtained from the doctor's office. Then Rilla lifted the babyout of the soup tureen and fed it. She brought down the old basket ofher own infancy from the attic and laid the now sleeping baby in it. She put the soup tureen away in the pantry. Then she sat down to thinkthings over. 

The result of her thinking things over was that she went to Susan whenthe baby woke. 

"I'm going to see what I can do, Susan. I can't let that poor littlething go back to Mrs. Conover. Tell me how to wash and dress it. "

Under Susan's supervision Rilla bathed the baby. Susan dared not help, other than by suggestion, for the doctor was in the living-room andmight pop in at any moment. Susan had learned by experience that whenDr. Blythe put his foot down and said a thing must be, that thing was. Rilla set her teeth and went ahead. In the name of goodness, how manywrinkles and kinks did a baby have? Why, there wasn't enough of it totake hold of. Oh, suppose she let it slip into the water--it was sowobbly! If it would only stop howling like that! How could such a tinymorsel make such an enormous noise. Its shrieks could be heard overIngleside from cellar to attic. 

"Am I really hurting it much, Susan, do you suppose?" she askedpiteously. 

"No, dearie. Most new babies hate like poison to be washed. You arereal knacky for a beginner. Keep your hand under its back, whatever youdo, and keep cool. "

Keep cool! Rilla was oozing perspiration at every pore. When the babywas dried and dressed and temporarily quieted with another bottle shewas as limp as a rag. 

"What must I do with it tonight, Susan?"

A baby by day was dreadful enough; a baby by night was unthinkable. 

"Set the basket on a chair by your bed and keep it covered. You willhave to feed it once or twice in the night, so you would better takethe oil heater upstairs. If you cannot manage it call me and I will go, doctor or no doctor. "

"But, Susan, if it cries?"

The baby, however, did not cry. It was surprisingly good--perhapsbecause its poor little stomach was filled with proper food. It sleptmost of the night but Rilla did not. She was afraid to go to sleep forfear something would happen to the baby. She prepared its three o'clockration with a grim determination that she would not call Susan. Oh, wasshe dreaming? Was it really she, Rilla Blythe, who had got into thisabsurd predicament? She did not care if the Germans were nearParis--she did not care if they were in Paris--if only the babywouldn't cry or choke or smother or have convulsions. Babies did haveconvulsions, didn't they? Oh, why had she forgotten to ask Susan whatshe must do if the baby had convulsions? She reflected rather bitterlythat father was very considerate of mother's and Susan's health, butwhat about hers? Did he think she could continue to exist if she nevergot any sleep? But she was not going to back down now--not she. Shewould look after this detestable little animal if it killed her. Shewould get a book on baby hygiene and be beholden to nobody. She wouldnever go to father for advice--she wouldn't bother mother--and shewould only condescend to Susan in dire extremity. They would all see!

Thus it came about that Mrs. Blythe, when she returned home two nightslater and asked Susan where Rilla was, was electrified by Susan'scomposed reply. 

"She's upstairs, Mrs. Dr. Dear, putting her baby to bed. "

CHAPTER VIII

RILLA DECIDES

Families and individuals alike soon become used to new conditions andaccept them unquestioningly. By the time a week had elapsed it seemedas it the Anderson baby had always been at Ingleside. After the firstthree distracted nights Rilla began to sleep again, wakingautomatically to attend to her charge on schedule time. She bathed andfed and dressed it as skilfully as if she had been doing it all herlife. She liked neither her job nor the baby any the better; she stillhandled it as gingerly as if it were some kind of a small lizard, and abreakable lizard at that; but she did her work thoroughly and there wasnot a cleaner, better-cared-for infant in Glen St. Mary. She even tookto weighing the creature every day and jotting the result down in herdiary; but sometimes she asked herself pathetically why unkind destinyhad ever led her down the Anderson lane on that fatal day. Shirley, Nan, and Di did not tease her as much as she had expected. They allseemed rather stunned by the mere fact of Rilla adopting a war-baby;perhaps, too, the doctor had issued instructions. Walter, of course, never had teased her over anything; one day he told her she was a brick. 

"It took more courage for you to tackle that five pounds of new infant, Rilla-my-Rilla, than it would be for Jem to face a mile of Germans. Iwish I had half your pluck, " he said ruefully. 

Rilla was very proud of Walter's approval; nevertheless, she wrotegloomily in her diary that night:--

"I wish I could like the baby a little bit. It would make thingseasier. But I don't. I've heard people say that when you took care of ababy you got fond of it--but you don't--I don't, anyway. And it's anuisance--it interferes with everything. It just ties me down--and nowof all times when I'm trying to get the Junior Reds started. And Icouldn't go to Alice Clow's party last night and I was just dying to. Of course father isn't really unreasonable and I can always get an houror two off in the evening when it's necessary; but I knew he wouldn'tstand for my being out half the night and leaving Susan or mother tosee to the baby. I suppose it was just as well, because the thing didtake colic--or something--about one o'clock. It didn't kick or stiffenout, so I knew that, according to Morgan, it wasn't crying for temper;and it wasn't hungry and no pins were sticking in it. It screamed tillit was black in the face; I got up and heated water and put thehot-water bottle on its stomach, and it howled worse than ever and drewup its poor wee thin legs. I was afraid I had burnt it but I don'tbelieve I did. Then I walked the floor with it although 'Morgan onInfants' says that should never be done. I walked miles, and oh, I wasso tired and discouraged and mad--yes, I was. I could have shaken thecreature if it had been big enough to shake, but it wasn't. Father wasout on a case, and mother had had a headache and Susan is squiffybecause when she and Morgan differ I insist upon going by what Morgansays, so I was determined I wouldn't call her unless I had to. 

"Finally, Miss Oliver came in. She has rooms with Nan now, not me, allbecause of the baby, and I am broken-hearted about it. I miss our longtalks after we went to bed, so much. It was the only time I ever hadher to myself. I hated to think the baby's yells had wakened her up, for she has so much to bear now. Mr. Grant is at Valcartier, too, andMiss Oliver feels it dreadfully, though she is splendid about it. Shethinks he will never come back and her eyes just break my heart--theyare so tragic. She said it wasn't the baby that woke her--she hadn'tbeen able to sleep because the Germans are so near Paris; she took thelittle wretch and laid it flat on its stomach across her knee andthumped its back gently a few times, and it stopped shrieking and wentright off to sleep and slept like a lamb the rest of the night. Ididn't--I was too worn out. 

"I'm having a perfectly dreadful time getting the Junior Reds started. I succeeded in getting Betty Mead as president, and I am secretary, butthey put Jen Vickers in as treasurer and I despise her. She is the sortof girl who calls any clever, handsome, or distinguished people sheknows slightly by their first names--behind their backs. And she is slyand two-faced. Una doesn't mind, of course. She is willing to doanything that comes to hand and never minds whether she has an officeor not. She is just a perfect angel, while I am only angelic in spotsand demonic in other spots. I wish Walter would take a fancy to her, but he never seems to think about her in that way, although I heard himsay once she was like a tea rose. She is too. And she gets imposedupon, just because she is so sweet and willing; but I don't allowpeople to impose on Rilla Blythe and 'that you may tie to, ' as Susansays. 

"Just as I expected, Olive was determined we should have lunch servedat our meetings. We had a battle royal over it. The majority wasagainst eats and now the minority is sulking. Irene Howard was on theeats side and she has been very cool to me ever since and it makes mefeel miserable. I wonder if mother and Mrs. Elliott have problems inthe Senior Society too. I suppose they have, but they just go on calmlyin spite of everything. I go on--but not calmly--I rage and cry--but Ido it all in private and blow off steam in this diary; and when it'sover I vow I'll show them. I never sulk. I detest people who sulk. Anyhow, we've got the society started and we're to meet once a week, and we're all going to learn to knit. 

"Shirley and I went down to the station again to try to induce DogMonday to come home but we failed. All the family have tried andfailed. Three days after Jem had gone Walter went down and broughtMonday home by main force in the buggy and shut him up for three days. Then Monday went on a hunger strike and howled like a Banshee night andday. We had to let him out or he would have starved to death. 

"So we have decided to let him alone and father has arranged with thebutcher near the station to feed him with bones and scraps. Besides, one of us goes down nearly every day to take him something. He justlies curled up in the shipping-shed, and every time a train comes in hewill rush over to the platform, wagging his tail expectantly, and teararound to every one who comes off the train. And then, when the traingoes and he realizes that Jem has not come, he creeps dejectedly backto his shed, with his disappointed eyes, and lies down patiently towait for the next train. Mr. Gray, the station master, says there aretimes when he can hardly help crying from sheer sympathy. One day someboys threw stones at Monday and old Johnny Mead, who never was known totake notice of anything before, snatched up a meat axe in the butcher'sshop and chased them through the village. Nobody has molested Mondaysince. 

"Kenneth Ford has gone back to Toronto. He came up two evenings ago tosay good-bye. I wasn't home--some clothes had to be made for the babyand Mrs. Meredith offered to help me, so I was over at the manse, and Ididn't see Kenneth. Not that it matters; he told Nan to say good-bye toSpider for him and tell me not to forget him wholly in my absorbingmaternal duties. If he could leave such a frivolous, insulting messageas that for me it shows plainly that our beautiful hour on thesandshore meant nothing to him and I am not going to think about him orit again. 

"Fred Arnold was at the manse and walked home with me. He is the newMethodist minister's son and very nice and clever, and would be quitehandsome if it were not for his nose. It is a really dreadful nose. When he talks of commonplace things it does not matter so much, butwhen he talks of poetry and ideals the contrast between his nose andhis conversation is too much for me and I want to shriek with laughter. It is really not fair, because everything he said was perfectlycharming and if somebody like Kenneth had said it I would have beenenraptured. When I listened to him with my eyes cast down I was quitefascinated; but as soon as I looked up and saw his nose the spell wasbroken. He wants to enlist, too, but can't because he is onlyseventeen. Mrs. Elliott met us as we were walking through the villageand could not have looked more horrified if she caught me walking withthe Kaiser himself. Mrs. Elliott detests the Methodists and all theirworks. Father says it is an obsession with her. "

About 1st September there was an exodus from Ingleside and the manse. Faith, Nan, Di and Walter left for Redmond; Carl betook himself to hisHarbour Head school and Shirley was off to Queen's. Rilla was leftalone at Ingleside and would have been very lonely if she had had timeto be. She missed Walter keenly; since their talk in Rainbow Valleythey had grown very near together and Rilla discussed problems withWalter which she never mentioned to others. But she was so busy withthe Junior Reds and her baby that there was rarely a spare minute forloneliness; sometimes, after she went to bed, she cried a little in herpillow over Walter's absence and Jem at Valcartier and Kenneth'sunromantic farewell message, but she was generally asleep before thetears got fairly started. 

"Shall I make arrangements to have the baby sent to Hopetown?" thedoctor asked one day two weeks after the baby's arrival at Ingleside. 

For a moment Rilla was tempted to say "Yes. " The baby could be sent toHopetown--it would be decently looked after--she could have her freedays and untrammelled nights back again. But--but--that poor youngmother who hadn't wanted it to go to the asylum! Rilla couldn't getthat out of her thoughts. And that very morning she discovered that thebaby had gained eight ounces since its coming to Ingleside. Rilla hadfelt such a thrill of pride over this. 

"You--you said it mightn't live if it went to Hopetown, " she said. 

"It mightn't. Somehow, institutional care, no matter how good it maybe, doesn't always succeed with delicate babies. But you know what itmeans if you want it kept here, Rilla. "

"I've taken care of it for a fortnight--and it has gained half apound, " cried Rilla. "I think we'd better wait until we hear from itsfather anyhow. He mightn't want to have it sent to an orphan asylum, when he is fighting the battles of his country. "

The doctor and Mrs. Blythe exchanged amused, satisfied smiles behindRilla's back; and nothing more was said about Hopetown. 

Then the smile faded from the doctor's face; the Germans were twentymiles from Paris. Horrible tales were beginning to appear in the papersof deeds done in martyred Belgium. Life was very tense at Ingleside forthe older people. 

"We eat up the war news, " Gertrude Oliver told Mrs. Meredith, trying tolaugh and failing. "We study the maps and nip the whole Hun army in afew well-directed strategic moves. But Papa Joffre hasn't the benefitof our advice--and so Paris--must--fall. "

"Will they reach it--will not some mighty hand yet intervene?" murmuredJohn Meredith. 

"I teach school like one in a dream, " continued Gertrude; "then I comehome and shut myself in my room and walk the floor. I am wearing a pathright across Nan's carpet. We are so horribly near this war. "

"Them German men are at Senlis. Nothing nor nobody can save Paris now, "wailed Cousin Sophia. Cousin Sophia had taken to reading the newspapersand had learned more about the geography of northern France, if notabout the pronunciation of French names, in her seventy-first year thanshe had ever known in her schooldays. 

"I have not such a poor opinion of the Almighty, or of Kitchener, " saidSusan stubbornly. "I see there is a Bernstoff man in the States whosays that the war is over and Germany has won--and they tell meWhiskers-on-the-moon says the same thing and is quite pleased about it, but I could tell them both that it is chancy work counting chickenseven the day before they are hatched, and bears have been known to livelong after their skins were sold. "

"Why ain't the British navy doing more?" persisted Cousin Sophia. 

"Even the British navy cannot sail on dry land, Sophia Crawford. I havenot given up hope, and I shall not, Tomascow and Mobbage and all suchbarbarous names to the contrary notwithstanding. Mrs. Dr. Dear, can youtell me if R-h-e-i-m-s is Rimes or Reems or Rames or Rems?"

"I believe it's really more like 'Rhangs, ' Susan. "

"Oh, those French names, " groaned Susan. 

"They tell me the Germans has about ruined the church there, " sighedCousin Sophia. "I always thought the Germans was Christians. "

"A church is bad enough but their doings in Belgium are far worse, "said Susan grimly. "When I heard the doctor reading about thembayonetting the babies, Mrs. Dr. Dear, I just thought, 'Oh, what if itwere our little Jem!' I was stirring the soup when that thought came tome and I just felt that if I could have lifted that saucepan full ofthat boiling soup and thrown it at the Kaiser I would not have lived invain. "

"Tomorrow--tomorrow--will bring the news that the Germans are inParis, " said Gertrude Oliver, through her tense lips. She had one ofthose souls that are always tied to the stake, burning in the sufferingof the world around them. Apart from her own personal interest in thewar, she was racked by the thought of Paris falling into the ruthlesshands of the hordes who had burned Louvain and ruined the wonder ofRheims. 

But on the morrow and the next morrow came the news of the miracle ofthe Marne. Rilla rushed madly home from the office waving theEnterprise with its big red headlines. Susan ran out with tremblinghands to hoist the flag. The doctor stalked about muttering "ThankGod. " Mrs. Blythe cried and laughed and cried again. 

"God just put out His hand and touched them--'thus far--no farther', "said Mr. Meredith that evening. 

Rilla was singing upstairs as she put the baby to bed. Paris wassaved--the war was over--Germany had lost--there would soon be an endnow--Jem and Jerry would be back. The black clouds had rolled by. 

"Don't you dare have colic this joyful night, " she told the baby. "Ifyou do I'll clap you back into your soup tureen and ship you off toHopetown--by freight--on the early train. You have got beautifuleyes--and you're not quite as red and wrinkled as you were--but youhaven't a speck of hair--and your hands are like little claws--and Idon't like you a bit better than I ever did. But I hope your poorlittle white mother knows that you're tucked in a soft basket with abottle of milk as rich as Morgan allows instead of perishing by incheswith old Meg Conover. And I hope she doesn't know that I nearly drownedyou that first morning when Susan wasn't there and I let you slip rightout of my hands into the water. Why will you be so slippery? No, Idon't like you and I never will but for all that I'm going to make adecent, upstanding infant of you. You are going to get as fat as aself-respecting child should be, for one thing. I am not going to havepeople saying 'what a puny little thing that baby of Rilla Blythe's is'as old Mrs. Drew said at the senior Red Cross yesterday. If I can'tlove you I mean to be proud of you at least. "

CHAPTER IX

DOC HAS A MISADVENTURE

"The war will not be over before next spring now, " said Dr. Blythe, when it became apparent that the long battle of the Aisne had resultedin a stalemate. 

Rilla was murmuring "knit four, purl one" under her breath, and rockingthe baby's cradle with one foot. Morgan disapproved of cradles forbabies but Susan did not, and it was worth while to make some slightsacrifice of principle to keep Susan in good humour. She laid down herknitting for a moment and said, "Oh, how can we bear it so long?"--thenpicked up her sock and went on. The Rilla of two months before wouldhave rushed off to Rainbow Valley and cried. 

Miss Oliver sighed and Mrs. Blythe clasped her hands for a moment. ThenSusan said briskly, "Well, we must just gird up our loins and pitch in. Business as usual is England's motto, they tell me, Mrs. Dr. Dear, andI have taken it for mine, not thinking I could easily find a better. Ishall make the same kind of pudding today I always make on Saturday. Itis a good deal of trouble to make, and that is well, for it will employmy thoughts. I will remember that Kitchener is at the helm and Jofferis doing very well for a Frenchman. I shall get that box of cake off tolittle Jem and finish that pair of socks today likewise. A sock a dayis my allowance. Old Mrs. Albert Mead of Harbour Head manages a pairand a half a day but she has nothing to do but knit. You know, Mrs. Dr. Dear, she has been bed-rid for years and she has been worrying terriblebecause she was no good to anybody and a dreadful expense, and yetcould not die and be out of the way. And now they tell me she is quitechirked up and resigned to living because there is something she cando, and she knits for the soldiers from daylight to dark. Even CousinSophia has taken to knitting, Mrs. Dr. Dear, and it is a good thing, for she cannot think of quite so many doleful speeches to make when herhands are busy with her needles instead of being folded on her stomach. She thinks we will all be Germans this time next year but I tell her itwill take more than a year to make a German out of me. Do you know thatRick MacAllister has enlisted, Mrs. Dr. Dear? And they say Joe Milgravewould too, only he is afraid that if he does that Whiskers-on-the-moonwill not let him have Miranda. Whiskers says that he will believe thestories of German atrocities when he sees them, and that it is a goodthing that Rangs Cathedral has been destroyed because it was a RomanCatholic church. Now, I am not a Roman Catholic, Mrs. Dr. Dear, beingborn and bred a good Presbyterian and meaning to live and die one, butI maintain that the Catholics have as good a right to their churches aswe have to ours and that the Huns had no kind of business to destroythem. Just think, Mrs. Dr. Dear, " concluded Susan pathetically, "how wewould feel if a German shell knocked down the spire of our church herein the glen, and I'm sure it is every bit as bad to think of Rangscathedral being hammered to pieces. "

And, meanwhile, everywhere, the lads of the world rich and poor, lowand high, white and brown, were following the Piper's call. 

"Even Billy Andrews' boy is going--and Jane's only son--and Diana'slittle Jack, " said Mrs. Blythe. "Priscilla's son has gone from Japanand Stella's from Vancouver--and both the Rev. Jo's boys. Philippawrites that her boys 'went right away, not being afflicted with herindecision. '"

"Jem says that he thinks they will be leaving very soon now, and thathe will not be able to get leave to come so far before they go, as theywill have to start at a few hours' notice, " said the doctor, passingthe letter to his wife. 

"That is not fair, " said Susan indignantly. "Has Sir Sam Hughes noregard for our feelings? The idea of whisking that blessed boy away toEurope without letting us even have a last glimpse of him! If I wereyou, doctor dear, I would write to the papers about it. "

"Perhaps it is as well, " said the disappointed mother. "I don't believeI could bear another parting from him--now that I know the war will notbe over as soon as we hoped when he left first. Oh, if only--but no, Iwon't say it! Like Susan and Rilla, " concluded Mrs. Blythe, achieving alaugh, "I am determined to be a heroine. "

"You're all good stuff, " said the doctor, "I'm proud of my women folk. Even Rilla here, my 'lily of the field, ' is running a Red Cross Societyfull blast and saving a little life for Canada. That's a good piece ofwork. Rilla, daughter of Anne, what are you going to call yourwar-baby?"

"I'm waiting to hear from Jim Anderson, " said Rilla. "He may want toname his own child. "

But as the autumn weeks went by no word came from Jim Anderson, who hadnever been heard from since he sailed from Halifax, and to whom thefate of wife and child seemed a matter of indifference. EventuallyRilla decided to call the baby James, and Susan opined that Kitchenershould be added thereto. So James Kitchener Anderson became thepossessor of a name somewhat more imposing than himself. The Inglesidefamily promptly shortened it to Jims, but Susan obstinately called him"Little Kitchener" and nothing else. 

"Jims is no name for a Christian child, Mrs. Dr. Dear, " she saiddisapprovingly. "Cousin Sophia says it is too flippant, and for once Iconsider she utters sense, though I would not please her by openlyagreeing with her. As for the child, he is beginning to look somethinglike a baby, and I must admit that Rilla is wonderful with him, thoughI would not pamper pride by saying so to her face. Mrs. Dr. Dear, Ishall never, no never, forget the first sight I had of that infant, lying in that big soup tureen, rolled up in dirty flannel. It is notoften that Susan Baker is flabbergasted, but flabbergasted I was then, and that you may tie to. For one awful moment I thought my mind hadgiven way and that I was seeing visions. Then thinks I, 'No, I neverheard of anyone having a vision of a soup tureen, so it must be real atleast, ' and I plucked up confidence. When I heard the doctor tell Rillathat she must take care of the baby I thought he was joking, for I didnot believe for a minute she would or could do it. But you see what hashappened and it is making a woman of her. When we have to do a thing, Mrs. Dr. Dear, we can do it. "

Susan added another proof to this concluding dictum of hers one day inOctober. The doctor and his wife were away. Rilla was presiding overJims' afternoon siesta upstairs, purling four and knitting one withceaseless vim. Susan was seated on the back veranda, shelling beans, and Cousin Sophia was helping her. Peace and tranquility brooded overthe Glen; the sky was fleeced over with silvery, shining clouds. Rainbow Valley lay in a soft, autumnal haze of fairy purple. The maplegrove was a burning bush of colour and the hedge of sweet-briar aroundthe kitchen yard was a thing of wonder in its subtle tintings. It didnot seem that strife could be in the world, and Susan's faithful heartwas lulled into a brief forgetfulness, although she had lain awake mostof the preceding night thinking of little Jem far out on the Atlantic, where the great fleet was carrying Canada's first army across theocean. Even Cousin Sophia looked less melancholy than usual andadmitted that there was not much fault to be found in the day, althoughthere was no doubt it was a weather-breeder and there would be an awfulstorm on its heels. 

"Things is too calm to last, " she said. 

As if in confirmation of her assertion, a most unearthly din suddenlyarose behind them. It was quite impossible to describe the confusedmedley of bangs and rattles and muffled shrieks and yowls thatproceeded from the kitchen, accompanied by occasional crashes. Susanand Cousin Sophia stared at each other in dismay. 

"What upon airth has bruk loose in there?" gasped Cousin Sophia. 

"It must be that Hyde-cat gone clean mad at last, " muttered Susan. "Ihave always expected it. "

Rilla came flying out of the side door of the living-room. 

"What has happened?" she demanded. 

"It is beyond me to say, but that possessed beast of yours is evidentlyat the bottom of it, " said Susan. "Do not go near him, at least. I willopen the door and peep in. There goes some more of the crockery. I havealways said that the devil was in him and that I will tie to. "

"It is my opinion that the cat has hydrophobia, " said Cousin Sophiasolemnly. "I once heard of a cat that went mad and bit threepeople--and they all died a most terrible death, and turned black asink. "

Undismayed by this, Susan opened the door and looked in. The floor waslittered with fragments of broken dishes, for it seemed that the fataltragedy had taken place on the long dresser where Susan's array ofcooking bowls had been marshalled in shining state. Around the kitchentore a frantic cat, with his head wedged tightly in an old salmon can. Blindly he careered about with shrieks and profanity commingled, nowbanging the can madly against anything he encountered, now tryingvainly to wrench it off with his paws. 

The sight was so funny that Rilla doubled up with laughter. Susanlooked at her reproachfully. 

"I see nothing to laugh at. That beast has broken your ma's big bluemixing-bowl that she brought from Green Gables when she was married. That is no small calamity, in my opinion. But the thing to consider nowis how to get that can off Hyde's head. "

"Don't you dast go touching it, " exclaimed Cousin Sophia, galvanizedinto animation. "It might be your death. Shut the kitchen up and sendfor Albert. "

"I am not in the habit of sending for Albert during familydifficulties, " said Susan loftily. "That beast is in torment, andwhatever my opinion of him may be, I cannot endure to see him sufferingpain. You keep away, Rilla, for little Kitchener's sake, and I will seewhat I can do. "

Susan stalked undauntedly into the kitchen, seized an old storm coat ofthe doctor's and after a wild pursuit and several fruitless dashes andpounces, managed to throw it over the cat and can. Then she proceededto saw the can loose with a can-opener, while Rilla held the squirminganimal, rolled in the coat. Anything like Doc's shrieks while theprocess was going on was never heard at Ingleside. Susan was in mortaldread that the Albert Crawfords would hear it and conclude she wastorturing the creature to death. Doc was a wrathful and indignant catwhen he was freed. Evidently he thought the whole thing was a put-upjob to bring him low. He gave Susan a baleful glance by way ofgratitude and rushed out of the kitchen to take sanctuary in the jungleof the sweet-briar hedge, where he sulked for the rest of the day. Susan swept up her broken dishes grimly. 

"The Huns themselves couldn't have worked more havoc here, " she saidbitterly. "But when people will keep a Satanic animal like that, inspite of all warnings, they cannot complain when their wedding bowlsget broken. Things have come to a pretty pass when an honest womancannot leave her kitchen for a few minutes without a fiend of a catrampaging through it with his head in a salmon can. "

CHAPTER X

THE TROUBLES OF RILLA

October passed out and the dreary days of November and December draggedby. The world shook with the thunder of contending armies; Antwerpfell--Turkey declared war--gallant little Serbia gathered herselftogether and struck a deadly blow at her oppressor; and in quiet, hill-girdled Glen St. Mary, thousands of miles away, hearts beat withhope and fear over the varying dispatches from day to day. 

"A few months ago, " said Miss Oliver, "we thought and talked in termsof Glen St. Mary. Now, we think and talk in terms of military tacticsand diplomatic intrigue. "

There was just one great event every day--the coming of the mail. EvenSusan admitted that from the time the mail-courier's buggy rumbled overthe little bridge between the station and the village until the paperswere brought home and read, she could not work properly. 

"I must take up my knitting then and knit hard till the papers come, Mrs. Dr. Dear. Knitting is something you can do, even when your heartis going like a trip-hammer and the pit of your stomach feels all goneand your thoughts are catawampus. Then when I see the headlines, bethey good or be they bad, I calm down and am able to go about mybusiness again. It is an unfortunate thing that the mail comes in justwhen our dinner rush is on, and I think the Government could arrangethings better. But the drive on Calais has failed, as I felt perfectlysure it would, and the Kaiser will not eat his Christmas dinner inLondon this year. Do you know, Mrs. Dr. Dear, "--Susan's voice loweredas a token that she was going to impart a very shocking piece ofinformation, --"I have been told on good authority--or else you may besure I would not be repeating it when it concerns a minster--that theRev. Mr. Arnold goes to Charlottetown every week and takes a Turkishbath for his rheumatism. The idea of him doing that when we are at warwith Turkey? One of his own deacons has always insisted that Mr. Arnold's theology was not sound and I am beginning to believe thatthere is some reason to fear it. Well, I must bestir myself thisafternoon and get little Jem's Christmas cake packed up for him. Hewill enjoy it, if the blessed boy is not drowned in mud before thattime. "

Jem was in camp on Salisbury Plain and was writing gay, cheery lettershome in spite of the mud. Walter was at Redmond and his letters toRilla were anything but cheerful. She never opened one without a dreadtugging at her heart that it would tell her he had enlisted. Hisunhappiness made her unhappy. She wanted to put her arm round him andcomfort him, as she had done that day in Rainbow Valley. She hatedeverybody who was responsible for Walter's unhappiness. 

"He will go yet, " she murmured miserably to herself one afternoon, asshe sat alone in Rainbow Valley, reading a letter from him, "he will goyet--and if he does I just can't bear it. "

Walter wrote that some one had sent him an envelope containing a whitefeather. 

"I deserved it, Rilla. I felt that I ought to put it on and wearit--proclaiming myself to all Redmond the coward I know I am. The boysof my year are going--going. Every day two or three of them join up. Some days I almost make up my mind to do it--and then I see myselfthrusting a bayonet through another man--some woman's husband orsweetheart or son--perhaps the father of little children--I see myselflying alone torn and mangled, burning with thirst on a cold, wet field, surrounded by dead and dying men--and I know I never can. I can't faceeven the thought of it. How could I face the reality? There are timeswhen I wish I had never been born. Life has always seemed such abeautiful thing to me--and now it is a hideous thing. Rilla-my-Rilla, if it weren't for your letters--your dear, bright, merry, funny, comical, believing letters--I think I'd give up. And Una's! Una isreally a little brick, isn't she? There's a wonderful fineness andfirmness under all that shy, wistful girlishness of her. She hasn'tyour knack of writing laugh-provoking epistles, but there's somethingin her letters--I don't know what--that makes me feel at least whileI'm reading them, that I could even go to the front. Not that she eversays a word about my going--or hints that I ought to go--she isn't thatkind. It's just the spirit of them--the personality that is in them. Well, I can't go. You have a brother and Una has a friend who is acoward. "

"Oh, I wish Walter wouldn't write such things, " sighed Rilla. "It hurtsme. He isn't a coward--he isn't--he isn't!"

She looked wistfully about her--at the little woodland valley and thegrey, lonely fallows beyond. How everything reminded her of Walter! Thered leaves still clung to the wild sweet-briars that overhung a curveof the brook; their stems were gemmed with the pearls of the gentlerain that had fallen a little while before. Walter had once written apoem describing them. The wind was sighing and rustling among thefrosted brown bracken ferns, then lessening sorrowfully away down thebrook. Walter had said once that he loved the melancholy of the autumnwind on a November day. The old Tree Lovers still clasped each other ina faithful embrace, and the White Lady, now a great white-branchedtree, stood out beautifully fine, against the grey velvet sky. Walterhad named them long ago; and last November, when he had walked with herand Miss Oliver in the Valley, he had said, looking at the leaflessLady, with a young silver moon hanging over her, "A white birch is abeautiful Pagan maiden who has never lost the Eden secret of beingnaked and unashamed. " Miss Oliver had said, "Put that into a poem, Walter, " and he had done so, and read it to them the next day--just ashort thing with goblin imagination in every line of it. Oh, how happythey had been then!

Well--Rilla scrambled to her feet--time was up. Jims would soon beawake--his lunch had to be prepared--his little slips had to beironed--there was a committee meeting of the Junior Reds thatnight--there was her new knitting bag to finish--it would be thehandsomest bag in the Junior Society--handsomer even than IreneHoward's--she must get home and get to work. She was busy these daysfrom morning till night. That little monkey of a Jims took so muchtime. But he was growing--he was certainly growing. And there weretimes when Rilla felt sure that it was not merely a pious hope but anabsolute fact that he was getting decidedly better looking. Sometimesshe felt quite proud of him; and sometimes she yearned to spank him. But she never kissed him or wanted to kiss him. 

"The Germans captured Lodz today, " said Miss Oliver, one Decemberevening, when she, Mrs. Blythe, and Susan were busy sewing or knittingin the cosy living-room. "This war is at least extending my knowledgeof geography. Schoolma'am though I am, three months ago I didn't knowthere was such a place in the world such as Lodz. Had I heard itmentioned I would have known nothing about it and cared as little. Iknow all about it now--its size, its standing, its militarysignificance. Yesterday the news that the Germans have captured it intheir second rush to Warsaw made my heart sink into my boots. I woke upin the night and worried over it. I don't wonder babies always cry whenthey wake up in the night. Everything presses on my soul then and nocloud has a silver lining. "

"When I wake up in the night and cannot go to sleep again, " remarkedSusan, who was knitting and reading at the same time, "I pass themoments by torturing the Kaiser to death. Last night I fried him inboiling oil and a great comfort it was to me, remembering those Belgianbabies. "

"If the Kaiser were here and had a pain in his shoulder you'd be thefirst to run for the liniment bottle to rub him down, " laughed MissOliver. 

"Would I?" cried outraged Susan. "Would I, Miss Oliver? I would rub himdown with coal oil, Miss Oliver--and leave it to blister. That is whatI would do and that you may tie to. A pain in his shoulder, indeed! Hewill have pains all over him before he is through with what he hasstarted. "

"We are told to love our enemies, Susan, " said the doctor solemnly. 

"Yes, our enemies, but not King George's enemies, doctor dear, "retorted Susan crushingly. She was so well pleased with herself overthis flattening out of the doctor completely that she even smiled asshe polished her glasses. Susan had never given in to glasses before, but she had done so at last in order to be able to read the warnews--and not a dispatch got by her. "Can you tell me, Miss Oliver, howto pronounce M-l-a-w-a and B-z-u-r-a and P-r-z-e-m-y-s-l?"

"That last is a conundrum which nobody seems to have solved yet, Susan. And I can make only a guess at the others. "

"These foreign names are far from being decent, in my opinion, " saiddisgusted Susan. 

"I dare say the Austrians and Russians would think Saskatchewan andMusquodoboit about as bad, Susan, " said Miss Oliver. "The Serbians havedone wonderfully of late. They have captured Belgrade. "

"And sent the Austrian creatures packing across the Danube with a fleain their ear, " said Susan with a relish, as she settled down to examinea map of Eastern Europe, prodding each locality with the knittingneedle to brand it on her memory. "Cousin Sophia said awhile ago thatSerbia was done for, but I told her there was still such a thing as anover-ruling Providence, doubt it who might. It says here that theslaughter was terrible. For all they were foreigners it is awful tothink of so many men being killed, Mrs. Dr. Dear--for they are scarceenough as it is. "

Rilla was upstairs relieving her over-charged feelings by writing inher diary. 

"Things have all 'gone catawampus, ' as Susan says, with me this week. Part of it was my own fault and part of it wasn't, and I seem to beequally unhappy over both parts. 

"I went to town the other day to buy a new winter hat. It was the firsttime nobody insisted on coming with me to help me select it, and I feltthat mother had really given up thinking of me as a child. And I foundthe dearest hat--it was simply bewitching. It was a velvet hat, of thevery shade of rich green that was made for me. It just goes with myhair and complexion beautifully, bringing out the red-brown shades andwhat Miss Oliver calls my 'creaminess' so well. Only once before in mylife have I come across that precise shade of green. When I was twelveI had a little beaver hat of it, and all the girls in school were wildover it. Well, as soon as I saw this hat I felt that I simply must haveit--and have it I did. The price was dreadful. I will not put it downhere because I don't want my descendants to know I was guilty of payingso much for a hat, in war-time, too, when everybody is--or shouldbe--trying to be economical. 

"When I got home and tried on the hat again in my room I was assailedby qualms. Of course, it was very becoming; but somehow it seemed tooelaborate and fussy for church going and our quiet little doings in theGlen--too conspicuous, in short. It hadn't seemed so at the milliner'sbut here in my little white room it did. And that dreadful price tag!And the starving Belgians! When mother saw the hat and the tag she justlooked at me. Mother is some expert at looking. Father says she lookedhim into love with her years ago in Avonlea school and I can wellbelieve it--though I have heard a weird tale of her banging him overthe head with a slate at the very beginning of their acquaintance. Mother was a limb when she was a little girl, I understand, and even upto the time when Jem went away she was full of ginger. But let mereturn to my mutton--that is to say, my new green velvet hat. 

"'Do you think, Rilla, ' mother said quietly--far too quietly--'that itwas right to spend so much for a hat, especially when the need of theworld is so great?'

"'I paid for it out of my own allowance, mother, ' I exclaimed. 

"'That is not the point. Your allowance is based on the principle of areasonable amount for each thing you need. If you pay too much for onething you must cut off somewhere else and that is not satisfactory. Butif you think you did right, Rilla, I have no more to say. I leave it toyour conscience. '

"I wish mother would not leave things to my conscience! And anyway, what was I to do? I couldn't take that hat back--I had worn it to aconcert in town--I had to keep it! I was so uncomfortable that I flewinto a temper--a cold, calm, deadly temper. 

"'Mother, ' I said haughtily, 'I am sorry you disapprove of my hat--'

"'Not of the hat exactly, ' said mother, 'though I consider it indoubtful taste for so young a girl--but of the price you paid for it. '

"Being interrupted didn't improve my temper, so I went on, colder andcalmer and deadlier than ever, just as if mother had not spoken. 

"'--but I have to keep it now. However, I promise you that I will notget another hat for three years or for the duration of the war, if itlasts longer than that. Even you'--oh, the sarcasm I put into the'you'--'cannot say that what I paid was too much when spread over atleast three years. '

"'You will be very tired of that hat before three years, Rilla, ' saidmother, with a provoking grin, which, being interpreted, meant that Iwouldn't stick it out. 

"'Tired or not, I will wear it that long, ' I said: and then I marchedupstairs and cried to think that I had been sarcastic to mother. 

"I hate that hat already. But three years or the duration of the war, Isaid, and three years or the duration of the war it shall be. I vowedand I shall keep my vow, cost what it will. 

"That is one of the 'catawampus' things. The other is that I havequarrelled with Irene Howard--or she quarrelled with me--or, no, weboth quarrelled. 

"The Junior Red Cross met here yesterday. The hour of meeting washalf-past two but Irene came at half-past one, because she got thechance of a drive down from the Upper Glen. Irene hasn't been a bitnice to me since the fuss about the eats; and besides I feel sure sheresents not being president. But I have been determined that thingsshould go smoothly, so I have never taken any notice, and when she cameyesterday she seemed so nice and sweet again that I hoped she had gotover her huffiness and we could be the chums we used to be. 

"But as soon as we sat down Irene began to rub me the wrong way. I sawher cast a look at my new knitting-bag. All the girls have always saidIrene was jealous-minded and I would never believe them before. But nowI feel that perhaps she is. 

"The first thing she did was to pounce on Jims--Irene pretends to adorebabies--pick him out of his cradle and kiss him all over his face. Now, Irene knows perfectly well that I don't like to have Jims kissed likethat. It is not hygienic. After she had worried him till he began tofuss, she looked at me and gave quite a nasty little laugh but shesaid, oh, so sweetly, "'Why, Rilla, darling, you look as if you thought I was poisoning thebaby. '

"'Oh, no, I don't, Irene, ' I said--every bit as sweetly, 'but you knowMorgan says that the only place a baby should be kissed is on itsforehead, for fear of germs, and that is my rule with Jims. '

"'Dear me, am I so full of germs?' said Irene plaintively. I knew shewas making fun of me and I began to boil inside--but outside no sign ofa simmer. I was determined I would not scrap with Irene. 

"Then she began to bounce Jims. Now, Morgan says bouncing is almost theworst thing that can be done to a baby. I never allow Jims to bebounced. But Irene bounced him and that exasperating child liked it. Hesmiled--for the very first time. He is four months old and he has neversmiled once before. Not even mother or Susan have been able to coaxthat thing to smile, try as they would. And here he was smiling becauseIrene Howard bounced him! Talk of gratitude!

"I admit that smile made a big difference in him. Two of the dearestdimples came out in his cheeks and his big brown eyes seemed full oflaughter. The way Irene raved over those dimples was silly, I consider. You would have supposed she thought she had really brought them intoexistence. But I sewed steadily and did not enthuse, and soon Irene gottired of bouncing Jims and put him back in his cradle. He did not likethat after being played with, and he began to cry and was fussy therest of the afternoon, whereas if Irene had only left him alone hewould not have been a bit of trouble. 

"Irene looked at him and said, 'Does he often cry like that?' as if shehad never heard a baby crying before. 

"I explained patiently that children have to cry so many minutes perday in order to expand their lungs. Morgan says so. 

"'If Jims didn't cry at all I'd have to make him cry for at leasttwenty minutes, ' I said. 

"'Oh, indeed!' said Irene, laughing as if she didn't believe me. 'Morgan on the Care of Infants' was upstairs or I would soon haveconvinced her. Then she said Jims didn't have much hair--she had neverseen a four months' old baby so bald. 

"Of course, I knew Jims hadn't much hair--yet; but Irene said it in atone that seemed to imply it was my fault that he hadn't any hair. Isaid I had seen dozens of babies every bit as bald as Jims, and Irenesaid, Oh very well, she hadn't meant to offend me--when I wasn'toffended. 

"It went on like that the rest of the hour--Irene kept giving me littledigs all the time. The girls have always said she was revengeful likethat if she were peeved about anything; but I never believed it before;I used to think Irene just perfect, and it hurt me dreadfully to findshe could stoop to this. But I corked up my feelings and sewed away fordear life on a Belgian child's nightgown. 

"Then Irene told me the meanest, most contemptible thing that someonehad said about Walter. I won't write it down--I can't. Of course, shesaid it made her furious to hear it and all that--but there was no needfor her to tell me such a thing even if she did hear it. She simply didit to hurt me. 

"I just exploded. 'How dare you come here and repeat such a thing aboutmy brother, Irene Howard?' I exclaimed. 'I shall never forgiveyou--never. Your brother hasn't enlisted--hasn't any idea of enlisting. '

"'Why Rilla, dear, I didn't say it, ' said Irene. 'I told you it wasMrs. George Burr. And I told her--'

"'I don't want to hear what you told her. Don't you ever speak to meagain, Irene Howard. '

"Oh course, I shouldn't have said that. But it just seemed to sayitself. Then the other girls all came in a bunch and I had to calm downand act the hostess' part as well as I could. Irene paired off withOlive Kirk all the rest of the afternoon and went away without so muchas a look. So I suppose she means to take me at my word and I don'tcare, for I do not want to be friends with a girl who could repeat sucha falsehood about Walter. But I feel unhappy over it for all that. We've always been such good chums and until lately Irene was lovely tome; and now another illusion has been stripped from my eyes and I feelas if there wasn't such a thing as real true friendship in the world. 

"Father got old Joe Mead to build a kennel for Dog Monday in the cornerof the shipping-shed today. We thought perhaps Monday would come homewhen the cold weather came but he wouldn't. No earthly influence cancoax Monday away from that shed even for a few minutes. There he staysand meets every train. So we had to do something to make himcomfortable. Joe built the kennel so that Monday could lie in it andstill see the platform, so we hope he will occupy it. 

"Monday has become quite famous. A reporter of the Enterprise came outfrom town and photographed him and wrote up the whole story of hisfaithful vigil. It was published in the Enterprise and copied all overCanada. But that doesn't matter to poor little Monday, Jem has goneaway--Monday doesn't know where or why--but he will wait until he comesback. Somehow it comforts me: it's foolish, I suppose, but it gives mea feeling that Jem will come back or else Monday wouldn't keep onwaiting for him. 

"Jims is snoring beside me in his cradle. It is just a cold that makeshim snore--not adenoids. Irene had a cold yesterday and I know she gaveit to him, kissing him. He is not quite such a nuisance as he was; hehas got some backbone and can sit up quite nicely, and he loves hisbath now and splashes unsmilingly in the water instead of twisting andshrieking. Oh, shall I ever forget those first two months! I don't knowhow I lived through them. But here I am and here is Jims and we bothare going to 'carry on. ' I tickled him a little bit tonight when Iundressed him--I wouldn't bounce him but Morgan doesn't mentiontickling--just to see if he would smile for me as well as Irene. And hedid--and out popped the dimples. What a pity his mother couldn't haveseen them!

"I finished my sixth pair of socks today. With the first three I gotSusan to set the heel for me. Then I thought that was a bit ofshirking, so I learned to do it myself. I hate it--but I have done somany things I hate since 4th of August that one more or less doesn'tmatter. I just think of Jem joking about the mud on Salisbury Plain andI go at them. "

CHAPTER XI

DARK AND BRIGHT

At Christmas the college boys and girls came home and for a littlewhile Ingleside was gay again. But all were not there--for the firsttime one was missing from the circle round the Christmas table. Jem, ofthe steady lips and fearless eyes, was far away, and Rilla felt thatthe sight of his vacant chair was more than she could endure. Susan hadtaken a stubborn freak and insisted on setting out Jem's place for himas usual, with the twisted little napkin ring he had always had since aboy, and the odd, high Green Gables goblet that Aunt Marilla had oncegiven him and from which he always insisted on drinking. 

"That blessed boy shall have his place, Mrs. Dr. Dear, " said Susanfirmly, "and do not you feel over it, for you may be sure he is here inspirit and next Christmas he will be here in the body. Wait you tillthe Big Push comes in the spring and the war will be over in a jiffy. "

They tried to think so, but a shadow stalked in the background of theirdetermined merrymaking. Walter, too, was quiet and dull, all throughthe holidays. He showed Rilla a cruel, anonymous letter he had receivedat Redmond--a letter far more conspicuous for malice than for patrioticindignation. 

"Nevertheless, all it says is true, Rilla. "

Rilla had caught it from him and thrown it into the fire. 

"There isn't one word of truth in it, " she declared hotly. "Walter, you've got morbid--as Miss Oliver says she gets when she broods toolong over one thing. "

"I can't get away from it at Redmond, Rilla. The whole college isaflame over the war. A perfectly fit fellow, of military age, whodoesn't join up is looked upon as a shirker and treated accordingly. Dr. Milne, the English professor, who has always made a special pet ofme, has two sons in khaki; and I can feel the change in his mannertowards me. "

"It's not fair--you're not fit. "

"Physically I am. Sound as a bell. The unfitness is in the soul andit's a taint and a disgrace. There, don't cry, Rilla. I'm not going ifthat's what you're afraid of. The Piper's music rings in my ears dayand night--but I cannot follow. "

"You would break mother's heart and mine if you did, " sobbed Rilla. "Oh, Walter, one is enough for any family. "

The holidays were an unhappy time for her. Still, having Nan and Di andWalter and Shirley home helped in the enduring of things. A letter andbook came for her from Kenneth Ford, too; some sentences in the lettermade her cheeks burn and her heart beat--until the last paragraph, which sent an icy chill over everything. 

"My ankle is about as good as new. I'll be fit to join up in a coupleof months more, Rilla-my-Rilla. It will be some feeling to get intokhaki all right. Little Ken will be able to look the whole world in theface then and owe not any man. It's been rotten lately, since I've beenable to walk without limping. People who don't know look at me as muchas to say 'Slacker!' Well, they won't have the chance to look it muchlonger. "

"I hate this war, " said Rilla bitterly, as she gazed out into the maplegrove that was a chill glory of pink and gold in the winter sunset. 

"Nineteen-fourteen has gone, " said Dr. Blythe on New Year's Day. "Itssun, which rose fairly, has set in blood. What will nineteen-fifteenbring?"

"Victory!" said Susan, for once laconic. 

"Do you really believe we'll win the war, Susan?" said Miss Oliverdrearily. She had come over from Lowbridge to spend the day and seeWalter and the girls before they went back to Redmond. She was in arather blue and cynical mood and inclined to look on the dark side. 

"'Believe' we'll win the war!" exclaimed Susan. "No, Miss Oliver, dear, I do not believe--I know. That does not worry me. What does worry me isthe trouble and expense of it all. But then you cannot make omeletswithout breaking eggs, so we must just trust in God and make big guns. "

"Sometimes I think the big guns are better to trust in than God, " saidMiss Oliver defiantly. 

"No, no, dear, you do not. The Germans had the big guns at the Marne, had they not? But Providence settled them. Do not ever forget that. Just hold on to that when you feel inclined to doubt. Clutch hold ofthe sides of your chair and sit tight and keep saying, 'Big guns aregood but the Almighty is better, and He is on our side, no matter whatthe Kaiser says about it. ' I would have gone crazy many a day lately, Miss Oliver, dear, if I had not sat tight and repeated that to myself. My cousin Sophia is, like you, somewhat inclined to despond. 'Oh, dearme, what will we do if the Germans ever get here, ' she wailed to meyesterday. 'Bury them, ' said I, just as off-hand as that. 'There isplenty of room for the graves. ' Cousin Sophia said that I was flippantbut I was not flippant, Miss Oliver, dear, only calm and confident inthe British navy and our Canadian boys. I am like old Mr. WilliamPollock of the Harbour Head. He is very old and has been ill for a longtime, and one night last week he was so low that his daughter-in-lawwhispered to some one that she thought he was dead. 'Darn it, I ain't, 'he called right out--only, Miss Oliver, dear, he did not use so mild aword as 'darn'--'darn it, I ain't, and I don't mean to die until theKaiser is well licked. ' Now, that, Miss Oliver, dear, " concluded Susan, "is the kind of spirit I admire. "

"I admire it but I can't emulate it, " sighed Gertrude. "Before this, Ihave always been able to escape from the hard things of life for alittle while by going into dreamland, and coming back like a giantrefreshed. But I can't escape from this. "

"Nor I, " said Mrs. Blythe. "I hate going to bed now. All my life I'veliked going to bed, to have a gay, mad, splendid half-hour of imaginingthings before sleeping. Now I imagine them still. But such differentthings. "

"I am rather glad when the time comes to go to bed, " said Miss Oliver. "I like the darkness because I can be myself in it--I needn't smile ortalk bravely. But sometimes my imagination gets out of hand, too, and Isee what you do--terrible things--terrible years to come. "

"I am very thankful that I never had any imagination to speak of, " saidSusan. "I have been spared that. I see by this paper that the CrownPrince is killed again. Do you suppose there is any hope of his stayingdead this time? And I also see that Woodrow Wilson is going to writeanother note. I wonder, " concluded Susan, with the bitter irony she hadof late begun to use when referring to the poor President, "if thatman's schoolmaster is alive. "

In January Jims was five months old and Rilla celebrated theanniversary by shortening him. 

"He weighs fourteen pounds, " she announced jubilantly. "Just exactlywhat he should weigh at five months, according to Morgan. "

There was no longer any doubt in anybody's mind that Jims was gettingpositively pretty. His little cheeks were round and firm and faintlypink, his eyes were big and bright, his tiny paws had dimples at theroot of every finger. He had even begun to grow hair, much to Rilla'sunspoken relief. There was a pale golden fuzz all over his head thatwas distinctly visible in some lights. He was a good infant, generallysleeping and digesting as Morgan decreed. Occasionally he smiled but hehad never laughed, in spite of all efforts to make him. This worriedRilla also, because Morgan said that babies usually laughed aloud fromthe third to the fifth month. Jims was five months and had no notion oflaughing. Why hadn't he? Wasn't he normal?

One night Rilla came home late from a recruiting meeting at the Glenwhere she had been giving patriotic recitations. Rilla had never beenwilling to recite in public before. She was afraid of her tendency tolisp, which had a habit of reviving if she were doing anything thatmade her nervous. When she had first been asked to recite at the UpperGlen meeting she had refused. Then she began to worry over her refusal. Was it cowardly? What would Jem think if he knew? After two days ofworry Rilla phoned to the president of the Patriotic Society that shewould recite. She did, and lisped several times, and lay awake most ofthe night in an agony of wounded vanity. Then two nights after sherecited again at Harbour Head. She had been at Lowbridge andover-harbour since then and had become resigned to an occasional lisp. Nobody except herself seemed to mind it. And she was so earnest andappealing and shining-eyed! More than one recruit joined up becauseRilla's eyes seemed to look right at him when she passionately demandedhow could men die better than fighting for the ashes of their fathersand the temples of their gods, or assured her audience with thrillingintensity that one crowded hour of glorious life was worth an agewithout a name. Even stolid Miller Douglas was so fired one night thatit took Mary Vance a good hour to talk him back to sense. Mary Vancesaid bitterly that if Rilla Blythe felt as bad as she had pretended tofeel over Jem's going to the front she wouldn't be urging other girls'brothers and friends to go. 

On this particular night Rilla was tired and cold and very thankful tocreep into her warm nest and cuddle down between her blankets, thoughas usual with a sorrowful wonder how Jem and Jerry were faring. She wasjust getting warm and drowsy when Jims suddenly began to cry--and kepton crying. 

Rilla curled herself up in her bed and determined she would let himcry. She had Morgan behind her for justification. Jims was warm, physically comfortable--his cry wasn't the cry of pain--and had hislittle tummy as full as was good for him. Under such circumstances itwould be simply spoiling him to fuss over him, and she wasn't going todo it. He could cry until he got good and tired and ready to go tosleep again. 

Then Rilla's imagination began to torment her. Suppose, she thought, Iwas a tiny, helpless creature only five months old, with my fathersomewhere in France and my poor little mother, who had been so worriedabout me, in the graveyard. Suppose I was lying in a basket in a big, black room, without one speck of light, and nobody within miles of me, for all I could see or know. Suppose there wasn't a human beinganywhere who loved me--for a father who had never seen me couldn't loveme very much, especially when he had never written a word to or aboutme. Wouldn't I cry, too? Wouldn't I feel just so lonely and forsakenand frightened that I'd have to cry?

Rilla hopped out. She picked Jims out of his basket and took him intoher own bed. His hands were cold, poor mite. But he had promptly ceasedto cry. And then, as she held him close to her in the darkness, suddenly Jims laughed--a real, gurgly, chuckly, delighted, delightfullaugh. 

"Oh, you dear little thing!" exclaimed Rilla. "Are you so pleased atfinding you're not all alone, lost in a huge, big, black room?" Thenshe knew she wanted to kiss him and she did. She kissed his silky, scented little head, she kissed his chubby little cheek, she kissed hislittle cold hands. She wanted to squeeze him--to cuddle him, just asshe used to squeeze and cuddle her kittens. Something delightful andyearning and brooding seemed to have taken possession of her. She hadnever felt like this before. 

In a few minutes Jims was sound asleep; and, as Rilla listened to hissoft, regular breathing and felt the little body warm and contentedagainst her, she realized that--at last--she loved her war-baby. 

"He has got to be--such--a--darling, " she thought drowsily, as shedrifted off to slumberland herself. 

In February Jem and Jerry and Robert Grant were in the trenches and alittle more tension and dread was added to the Ingleside life. In March"Yiprez, " as Susan called it, had come to have a bitter significance. The daily list of casualties had begun to appear in the papers and noone at Ingleside ever answered the telephone without a horrible coldshrinking--for it might be the station-master phoning up to say atelegram had come from overseas. No one at Ingleside ever got up in themorning without a sudden piercing wonder over what the day might bring. 

"And I used to welcome the mornings so, " thought Rilla. 

Yet the round of life and duty went steadily on and every week or soone of the Glen lads who had just the other day been a rollickingschoolboy went into khaki. 

"It is bitter cold out tonight, Mrs. Dr. Dear, " said Susan, coming inout of the clear starlit crispness of the Canadian winter twilight. "Iwonder if the boys in the trenches are warm. "

"How everything comes back to this war, " cried Gertrude Oliver. "Wecan't get away from it--not even when we talk of the weather. I nevergo out these dark cold nights myself without thinking of the men in thetrenches--not only our men but everybody's men. I would feel the sameif there were nobody I knew at the front. When I snuggle down in mycomfortable bed I am ashamed of being comfortable. It seems as if itwere wicked of me to be so when many are not. "

"I saw Mrs. Meredith down at the store, " said Susan, "and she tells methat they are really troubled over Bruce, he takes things so much toheart. He has cried himself to sleep for a week, over the starvingBelgians. 'Oh, mother, ' he will say to her, so beseeching-like, 'surelythe babies are never hungry--oh, not the babies, mother! Just say thebabies are not hungry, mother. ' And she cannot say it because it wouldnot be true, and she is at her wits' end. They try to keep such thingsfrom him but he finds them out and then they cannot comfort him. Itbreaks my heart to read about them myself, Mrs. Dr. Dear, and I cannotconsole myself with the thought that the tales are not true. When Iread a novel that makes me want to weep I just say severely to myself, 'Now, Susan Baker, you know that is all a pack of lies. ' But we mustcarry on. Jack Crawford says he is going to the war because he is tiredof farming. I hope he will find it a pleasant change. And Mrs. RichardElliott over-harbour is worrying herself sick because she used to bealways scolding her husband about smoking up the parlour curtains. Nowthat he has enlisted she wishes she had never said a word to him. Youknow Josiah Cooper and William Daley, Mrs. Dr. Dear. They used to befast friends but they quarrelled twenty years ago and have never spokensince. Well, the other day Josiah went to William and said right out, 'Let us be friends. 'Tain't any time to be holding grudges. ' Williamwas real glad and held out his hand, and they sat down for a good talk. And in less than half an hour they had quarrelled again, over how thewar ought to be fought, Josiah holding that the Dardanelles expeditionwas rank folly and William maintaining that it was the one sensiblething the Allies had done. And now they are madder at each other thanever and William says Josiah is as bad a pro-German asWhiskers-on-the-Moon. Whiskers-on-the-moon vows he is no pro-German butcalls himself a pacifist, whatever that may be. It is nothing proper orWhiskers would not be it and that you may tie to. He says that the bigBritish victory at New Chapelle cost more than it was worth and he hasforbid Joe Milgrave to come near the house because Joe ran up hisfather's flag when the news came. Have you noticed, Mrs. Dr. Dear, thatthe Czar has changed that Prish name to Premysl, which proves that theman had good sense, Russian though he is? Joe Vickers told me in thestore that he saw a very queer looking thing in the sky tonight overLowbridge way. Do you suppose it could have been a Zeppelin, Mrs. Dr. Dear?"

"I do not think it very likely, Susan. "

"Well, I would feel easier about it if Whiskers-on-the-moon were notliving in the Glen. They say he was seen going through strangemanoeuvres with a lantern in his back yard one night lately. Somepeople think he was signalling. "

"To whom--or what?"

"Ah, that is the mystery, Mrs. Dr. Dear. In my opinion the Governmentwould do well to keep an eye on that man if it does not want us to beall murdered in our beds some night. Now I shall just look over thepapers a minute before going to write a letter to little Jem. Twothings I never did, Mrs. Dr. Dear, were write letters and readpolitics. Yet here I am doing both regular and I find there issomething in politics after all. Whatever Woodrow Wilson means I cannotfathom but I am hoping I will puzzle it out yet. "

Susan, in her pursuit of Wilson and politics, presently came uponsomething that disturbed her and exclaimed in a tone of bitterdisappointment, "That devilish Kaiser has only a boil after all. "

"Don't swear, Susan, " said Dr. Blythe, pulling a long face. 

"'Devilish' is not swearing, doctor, dear. I have always understoodthat swearing was taking the name of the Almighty in vain?"

"Well, it isn't--ahem--refined, " said the doctor, winking at MissOliver. 

"No, doctor, dear, the devil and the Kaiser--if so be that they arereally two different people--are not refined. And you cannot refer tothem in a refined way. So I abide by what I said, although you maynotice that I am careful not to use such expressions when young Rillais about. And I maintain that the papers have no right to say that theKaiser has pneumonia and raise people's hopes, and then come out andsay he has nothing but a boil. A boil, indeed! I wish he was coveredwith them. "

Susan stalked out to the kitchen and settled down to write to Jem;deeming him in need of some home comfort from certain passages in hisletter that day. 

"We're in an old wine cellar tonight, dad, " he wrote, "in water to ourknees. Rats everywhere--no fire--a drizzling rain coming down--ratherdismal. But it might be worse. I got Susan's box today and everythingwas in tip-top order and we had a feast. Jerry is up the line somewhereand he says the rations are rather worse than Aunt Martha's ditto usedto be. But here they're not bad--only monotonous. Tell Susan I'd give ayear's pay for a good batch of her monkey-faces; but don't let thatinspire her to send any for they wouldn't keep. 

"We have been under fire since the last week in February. One boy--hewas a Nova Scotian--was killed right beside me yesterday. A shell burstnear us and when the mess cleared away he was lying dead--not mangledat all--he just looked a little startled. It was the first time I'dbeen close to anything like that and it was a nasty sensation, but onesoon gets used to horrors here. We're in an absolutely different world. The only things that are the same are the stars--and they are never intheir right places, somehow. 

"Tell mother not to worry--I'm all right--fit as a fiddle--and glad Icame. There's something across from us here that has got to be wipedout of the world, that's all--an emanation of evil that would otherwisepoison life for ever. It's got to be done, dad, however long it takes, and whatever it costs, and you tell the Glen people this for me. Theydon't realize yet what it is has broken loose--I didn't when I firstjoined up. I thought it was fun. Well, it isn't! But I'm in the rightplace all right--make no mistake about that. When I saw what had beendone here to homes and gardens and people--well, dad, I seemed to see agang of Huns marching through Rainbow Valley and the Glen, and thegarden at Ingleside. There were gardens over here--beautiful gardenswith the beauty of centuries--and what are they now? Mangled, desecrated things! We are fighting to make those dear old places wherewe had played as children, safe for other boys and girls--fighting forthe preservation and safety of all sweet, wholesome things. 

"Whenever any of you go to the station be sure to give Dog Monday adouble pat for me. Fancy the faithful little beggar waiting there forme like that! Honestly, dad, on some of these dark cold nights in thetrenches, it heartens and braces me up no end to think that thousandsof miles away at the old Glen station there is a small spotted dogsharing my vigil. 

"Tell Rilla I'm glad her war-baby is turning out so well, and tellSusan that I'm fighting a good fight against both Huns and cooties. "

"Mrs. Dr. Dear, " whispered Susan solemnly, "what are cooties?"

Mrs. Blythe whispered back and then said in reply to Susan's horrifiedejaculations, "It's always like that in the trenches, Susan. "

Susan shook her head and went away in grim silence to re-open a parcelshe had sewed up for Jem and slip in a fine tooth comb. 

CHAPTER XII

IN THE DAYS OF LANGEMARCK

"How can spring come and be beautiful in such a horror, " wrote Rilla inher diary. "When the sun shines and the fluffy yellow catkins arecoming out on the willow-trees down by the brook, and the garden isbeginning to be beautiful I can't realize that such dreadful things arehappening in Flanders. But they are!

"This past week has been terrible for us all, since the news came ofthe fighting around Ypres and the battles of Langemarck and St. Julien. Our Canadian boys have done splendidly--General French says they 'savedthe situation, ' when the Germans had all but broken through. But Ican't feel pride or exultation or anything but a gnawing anxiety overJem and Jerry and Mr. Grant. The casualty lists are coming out in thepapers every day--oh, there are so many of them. I can't bear to readthem for fear I'd find Jem's name--for there have been cases wherepeople have seen their boys' names in the casualty lists before theofficial telegram came. As for the telephone, for a day or two I justrefused to answer it, because I thought I could not endure the horriblemoment that came between saying 'Hello' and hearing the response. Thatmoment seemed a hundred years long, for I was always dreading to hear'There is a telegram for Dr. Blythe. ' Then, when I had shirked for awhile, I was ashamed of leaving it all for mother or Susan, and now Imake myself go. But it never gets any easier. Gertrude teaches schooland reads compositions and sets examination papers just as she alwayshas done, but I know her thoughts are over in Flanders all the time. Her eyes haunt me. 

"And Kenneth is in khaki now, too. He has got a lieutenant's commissionand expects to go overseas in midsummer, so he wrote me. There wasn'tmuch else in the letter--he seemed to be thinking of nothing but goingoverseas. I shall not see him again before he goes--perhaps I willnever see him again. Sometimes I ask myself if that evening at FourWinds was all a dream. It might as well be--it seems as if it happenedin another life lived years ago--and everybody has forgotten it but me. 

"Walter and Nan and Di came home last night from Redmond. When Walterstepped off the train Dog Monday rushed to meet him, frantic with joy. I suppose he thought Jem would be there, too. After the first moment, he paid no attention to Walter and his pats, but just stood there, wagging his tail nervously and looking past Walter at the other peoplecoming out, with eyes that made me choke up, for I couldn't helpthinking that, for all we knew, Monday might never see Jem come offthat train again. Then, when all the people were out, Monday looked upat Walter, gave his hand a little lick as if to say, 'I know it isn'tyour fault he didn't come--excuse me for feeling disappointed, ' andthen he trotted back to his shed, with that funny little sidelongwaggle of his that always makes it seem that his hind legs aretravelling directly away from the point at which his forelegs areaiming. 

"We tried to coax him home with us--Di even got down and kissed himbetween the eyes and said, 'Monday, old duck, won't you come up with usjust for the evening?' And Monday said--he did!--'I am very sorry but Ican't. I've got a date to meet Jem here, you know, and there's a traingoes through at eight. '

"It's lovely to have Walter back again though he seems quiet and sad, just as he was at Christmas. But I'm going to love him hard and cheerhim up and make him laugh as he used to. It seems to me that every dayof my life Walter means more to me. 

"The other evening Susan happened to say that the mayflowers were outin Rainbow Valley. I chanced to be looking at mother when Susan spoke. Her face changed and she gave a queer little choked cry. Most of thetime mother is so spunky and gay you would never guess what she feelsinside; but now and then some little thing is too much for her and wesee under the surface. 'Mayflowers!' she said. 'Jem brought memayflowers last year!' and she got up and went out of the room. I wouldhave rushed off to Rainbow Valley and brought her an armful ofmayflowers, but I knew that wasn't what she wanted. And after Waltergot home last night he slipped away to the valley and brought motherhome all the mayflowers he could find. Nobody had said a word to himabout it--he just remembered himself that Jem used to bring mother thefirst mayflowers and so he brought them in Jem's place. It shows howtender and thoughtful he is. And yet there are people who send himcruel letters!

"It seems strange that we can go in with ordinary life just as ifnothing were happening overseas that concerned us, just as if any daymight not bring us awful news. But we can and do. Susan is putting inthe garden, and mother and she are housecleaning, and we Junior Redsare getting up a concert in aid of the Belgians. We have beenpractising for a month and having no end of trouble and bother withcranky people. Miranda Pryor promised to help with a dialogue and whenshe had her part all learnt her father put his foot down and refused toallow her to help at all. I am not blaming Miranda exactly, but I dothink she might have a little more spunk sometimes. If she put her footdown once in a while she might bring her father to terms, for she isall the housekeeper he has and what would he do if she 'struck'? If Iwere in Miranda's shoes I'd find some way of managingWhiskers-on-the-moon. I would horse-whip him, or bite him, if nothingelse would serve. But Miranda is a meek and obedient daughter whosedays should be long in the land. 

"I couldn't get anyone else to take the part, because nobody liked it, so finally I had to take it myself. Olive Kirk is on the concertcommittee and goes against me in every single thing. But I got my wayin asking Mrs. Channing to come out from town and sing for us, anyhow. She is a beautiful singer and will draw such a crowd that we will makemore than we will have to pay her. Olive Kirk thought our local talentgood enough and Minnie Clow won't sing at all now in the chorusesbecause she would be so nervous before Mrs. Channing. And Minnie is theonly good alto we have! There are times when I am so exasperated that Ifeel tempted to wash my hands of the whole affair; but after I danceround my room a few times in sheer rage I cool down and have anotherwhack at it. Just at present I am racked with worry for fear the IsaacReeses are taking whooping-cough. They have all got a dreadful cold andthere are five of them who have important parts in the programme and ifthey go and develop whooping-cough what shall I do? Dick Reese's violinsolo is to be one of our titbits and Kit Reese is in every tableau andthe three small girls have the cutest flag-drill. I've been toiling forweeks to train them in it, and now it seems likely that all my troublewill go for nothing. 

"Jims cut his first tooth today. I am very glad, for he is nearly ninemonths old and Mary Vance has been insinuating that he is awfullybackward about cutting his teeth. He has begun to creep but doesn'tcrawl as most babies do. He trots about on all fours and carries thingsin his mouth like a little dog. Nobody can say he isn't up to scheduletime in the matter of creeping anyway--away ahead of it indeed, sinceten months is Morgan's average for creeping. He is so cute, it will bea shame if his dad never sees him. His hair is coming on nicely too, and I am not without hope that it will be curly. 

"Just for a few minutes, while I've been writing of Jims and theconcert, I've forgotten Ypres and the poison gas and the casualtylists. Now it all rushes back, worse than ever. Oh, if we could justknow that Jem is all right! I used to be so furious with Jem when hecalled me Spider. And now, if he would just come whistling through thehall and call out, 'Hello, Spider, ' as he used to do, I would think itthe loveliest name in the world. "

Rilla put away her diary and went out to the garden. The spring eveningwas very lovely. The long, green, seaward-looking glen was filled withdusk, and beyond it were meadows of sunset. The harbour was radiant, purple here, azure there, opal elsewhere. The maple grove was beginningto be misty green. Rilla looked about her with wistful eyes. Who saidthat spring was the joy of the year? It was the heart-break of theyear. And the pale-purply mornings and the daffodil stars and the windin the old pine were so many separate pangs of the heart-break. Wouldlife ever be free from dread again?

"It's good to see P. E. I. Twilight once more, " said Walter, joining her. "I didn't really remember that the sea was so blue and the roads so redand the wood nooks so wild and fairy haunted. Yes, the fairies stillabide here. I vow I could find scores of them under the violets inRainbow Valley. "

Rilla was momentarily happy. This sounded like the Walter of yore. Shehoped he was forgetting certain things that had troubled him. 

"And isn't the sky blue over Rainbow Valley?" she said, responding tohis mood. "Blue--blue--you'd have to say 'blue' a hundred times beforeyou could express how blue it is. "

Susan wandered by, her head tied up with a shawl, her hands full ofgarden implements. Doc, stealthy and wild-eyed, was shadowing her stepsamong the spirea bushes. 

"The sky may be blue, " said Susan, "but that cat has been Hyde all dayso we will likely have rain tonight and by the same token I haverheumatism in my shoulder. "

"It may rain--but don't think rheumatism, Susan--think violets, " saidWalter gaily--rather too gaily, Rilla thought. 

Susan considered him unsympathetic. 

"Indeed, Walter dear, I do not know what you mean by thinking violets, "she responded stiffly, "and rheumatism is not a thing to be jokedabout, as you may some day realize for yourself. I hope I am not of thekind that is always complaining of their aches and pains, especiallynow when the news is so terrible. Rheumatism is bad enough but Irealize, and none better, that it is not to be compared to being gassedby the Huns. "

"Oh, my God, no!" exclaimed Walter passionately. He turned and wentback to the house. 

Susan shook her head. She disapproved entirely of such ejaculations. "Ihope he will not let his mother hear him talking like that, " shethought as she stacked the hoes and rake away. 

Rilla was standing among the budding daffodils with tear-filled eyes. Her evening was spoiled; she detested Susan, who had somehow hurtWalter; and Jem--had Jem been gassed? Had he died in torture?

"I can't endure this suspense any longer, " said Rilla desperately. 

But she endured it as the others did for another week. Then a lettercame from Jem. He was all right. 

"I've come through without a scratch, dad. Don't know how I or any ofus did it. You'll have seen all about it in the papers--I can't writeof it. But the Huns haven't got through--they won't get through. Jerrywas knocked stiff by a shell one time, but it was only the shock. Hewas all right in a few days. Grant is safe, too. "

Nan had a letter from Jerry Meredith. "I came back to consciousness atdawn, " he wrote. "Couldn't tell what had happened to me but thoughtthat I was done for. I was all alone and afraid--terribly afraid. Deadmen were all around me, lying on the horrible grey, slimy fields. I waswoefully thirsty--and I thought of David and the Bethlehem water--andof the old spring in Rainbow Valley under the maples. I seemed to seeit just before me--and you standing laughing on the other side ofit--and I thought it was all over with me. And I didn't care. Honestly, I didn't care. I just felt a dreadful childish fear of loneliness andof those dead men around me, and a sort of wonder how this could havehappened to me. Then they found me and carted me off and before long Idiscovered that there wasn't really anything wrong with me. I'm goingback to the trenches tomorrow. Every man is needed there that can begot. "

"Laughter is gone out of the world, " said Faith Meredith, who had comeover to report on her letters. "I remember telling old Mrs. Taylor longago that the world was a world of laughter. But it isn't so any longer. "

"It's a shriek of anguish, " said Gertrude Oliver. 

"We must keep a little laughter, girls, " said Mrs. Blythe. "A goodlaugh is as good as a prayer sometimes--only sometimes, " she addedunder her breath. She had found it very hard to laugh during the threeweeks she had just lived through--she, Anne Blythe, to whom laughterhad always come so easily and freshly. And what hurt most was thatRilla's laughter had grown so rare--Rilla whom she used to thinklaughed over-much. Was all the child's girlhood to be so clouded? Yethow strong and clever and womanly she was growing! How patiently sheknitted and sewed and manipulated those uncertain Junior Reds! And howwonderful she was with Jims. 

"She really could not do better for that child than if she had raised abaker's dozen, Mrs. Dr. Dear, " Susan had avowed solemnly. "Little did Iever expect it of her on the day she landed here with that soup tureen. "

CHAPTER XIII

A SLICE OF HUMBLE PIE

"I am very much afraid, Mrs. Dr. Dear, " said Susan, who had been on apilgrimage to the station with some choice bones for Dog Monday, "thatsomething terrible has happened. Whiskers-on-the-moon came off thetrain from Charlottetown and he was looking pleased. I do not rememberthat I ever saw him with a smile on in public before. Of course he mayhave just been getting the better of somebody in a cattle deal but Ihave an awful presentiment that the Huns have broken through somewhere. "

Perhaps Susan was unjust in connecting Mr. Pryor's smile with thesinking of the Lusitania, news of which circulated an hour later whenthe mail was distributed. But the Glen boys turned out that night in abody and broke all his windows in a fine frenzy of indignation over theKaiser's doings. 

"I do not say they did right and I do not say they did wrong, " saidSusan, when she heard of it. "But I will say that I wouldn't haveminded throwing a few stones myself. One thing iscertain--Whiskers-on-the-moon said in the post office the day the newscame, in the presence of witnesses, that folks who could not stay homeafter they had been warned deserved no better fate. Norman Douglas isfairly foaming at the mouth over it all. 'If the devil doesn't getthose men who sunk the Lusitania then there is no use in there being adevil, ' he was shouting in Carter's store last night. Norman Douglasalways has believed that anybody who opposed him was on the side of thedevil, but a man like that is bound to be right once in a while. BruceMeredith is worrying over the babies who were drowned. And it seems heprayed for something very special last Friday night and didn't get it, and was feeling quite disgruntled over it. But when he heard about theLusitania he told his mother that he understood now why God didn'tanswer his prayer--He was too busy attending to the souls of all thepeople who went down on the Lusitania. That child's brain is a hundredyears older than his body, Mrs. Dr. Dear. As for the Lusitania, it isan awful occurrence, whatever way you look at it. But Woodrow Wilson isgoing to write a note about it, so why worry? A pretty president!" andSusan banged her pots about wrathfully. President Wilson was rapidlybecoming anathema in Susan's kitchen. 

Mary Vance dropped in one evening to tell the Ingleside folks that shehad withdrawn all opposition to Miller Douglas's enlisting. 

"This Lusitania business was too much for me, " said Mary brusquely. "When the Kaiser takes to drowning innocent babies it's high timesomebody told him where he gets off at. This thing must be fought to afinish. It's been soaking into my mind slow but I'm on now. So I up andtold Miller he could go as far as I was concerned. Old Kitty Alec won'tbe converted though. If every ship in the world was submarined andevery baby drowned, Kitty wouldn't turn a hair. But I flatter myselfthat it was me kept Miller back all along and not the fair Kitty. I mayhave deceived myself--but we shall see. "

They did see. The next Sunday Miller Douglas walked into the GlenChurch beside Mary Vance in khaki. And Mary was so proud of him thather white eyes fairly blazed. Joe Milgrave, back under the gallery, looked at Miller and Mary and then at Miranda Pryor, and sighed soheavily that every one within a radius of three pews heard him and knewwhat his trouble was. Walter Blythe did not sigh. But Rilla, scanninghis face anxiously, saw a look that cut into her heart. It haunted herfor the next week and made an undercurrent of soreness in her soul, which was externally being harrowed up by the near approach of the RedCross concert and the worries connected therewith. The Reese cold hadnot developed into whooping-cough, so that tangle was straightened out. But other things were hanging in the balance; and on the very daybefore the concert came a regretful letter from Mrs. Channing sayingthat she could not come to sing. Her son, who was in Kingsport with hisregiment, was seriously ill with pneumonia, and she must go to him atonce. 

The members of the concert committee looked at each other in blankdismay. What was to be done?

"This comes of depending on outside help, " said Olive Kirk, disagreeably. 

"We must do something, " said Rilla, too desperate to care for Olive'smanner. "We've advertised the concert everywhere--and crowds arecoming--there's even a big party coming out from town--and we wereshort enough of music as it was. We must get some one to sing in Mrs. Channing's place. "

"I don't know who you can get at this late date, " said Olive. "IreneHoward could do it; but it is not likely she will after the way she wasinsulted by our society. "

"How did our society insult her?" asked Rilla, in what she called her'cold-pale tone. ' Its coldness and pallor did not daunt Olive. 

"You insulted her, " she answered sharply. "Irene told me all aboutit--she was literally heart-broken. You told her never to speak to youagain--and Irene told me she simply could not imagine what she had saidor done to deserve such treatment. That was why she never came to ourmeetings again but joined in with the Lowbridge Red Cross. I do notblame her in the least, and I, for one, will not ask her to lowerherself by helping us out of this scrape. "

"You don't expect me to ask her?" giggled Amy MacAllister, the othermember of the committee. "Irene and I haven't spoken for a hundredyears. Irene is always getting 'insulted' by somebody. But she is alovely singer, I'll admit that, and people would just as soon hear heras Mrs. Channing. "

"It wouldn't do any good if you did ask her, " said Olive significantly. "Soon after we began planning this concert, back in April, I met Irenein town one day and asked her if she wouldn't help us out. She saidshe'd love to but she really didn't see how she could when Rilla Blythewas running the programme, after the strange way Rilla had behaved toher. So there it is and here we are, and a nice failure our concertwill be. "

Rilla went home and shut herself up in her room, her soul in a turmoil. She would not humiliate herself by apologizing to Irene Howard! Irenehad been as much in the wrong as she had been; and she had told suchmean, distorted versions of their quarrel everywhere, posing as apuzzled, injured martyr. Rilla could never bring herself to tell herside of it. The fact that a slur at Walter was mixed up in it tied hertongue. So most people believed that Irene had been badly used, excepta few girls who had never liked her and sided with Rilla. And yet--theconcert over which she had worked so hard was going to be a failure. Mrs. Channing's four solos were the feature of the whole programme. 

"Miss Oliver, what do you think about it?" she asked in desperation. 

"I think Irene is the one who should apologize, " said Miss Oliver. "Butunfortunately my opinion will not fill the blanks in your programme. "

"If I went and apologized meekly to Irene she would sing, I am sure, "sighed Rilla. "She really loves to sing in public. But I know she'll benasty about it--I feel I'd rather do anything than go. I suppose Ishould go--if Jem and Jerry can face the Huns surely I can face IreneHoward, and swallow my pride to ask a favour of her for the good of theBelgians. Just at present I feel that I cannot do it but for all that Ihave a presentiment that after supper you'll see me meekly trottingthrough Rainbow Valley on my way to the Upper Glen Road. "

Rilla's presentiment proved correct. After supper she dressed herselfcarefully in her blue, beaded crepe--for vanity is harder to quell thanpride and Irene always saw any flaw or shortcoming in another girl'sappearance. Besides, as Rilla had told her mother one day when she wasnine years old, "It is easier to behave nicely when you have your goodclothes on. "

Rilla did her hair very becomingly and donned a long raincoat for fearof a shower. But all the while her thoughts were concerned with thecoming distasteful interview, and she kept rehearsing mentally her partin it. She wished it were over--she wished she had never tried to getup a Belgian Relief concert--she wished she had not quarreled withIrene. After all, disdainful silence would have been much moreeffective in meeting the slur upon Walter. It was foolish and childishto fly out as she had done--well, she would be wiser in the future, butmeanwhile a large and very unpalatable slice of humble pie had to beeaten, and Rilla Blythe was no fonder of that wholesome article of dietthan the rest of us. 

By sunset she was at the door of the Howard house--a pretentious abode, with white scroll-work round the eaves and an eruption of bay-windowson all its sides. Mrs. Howard, a plump, voluble dame, met Rillagushingly and left her in the parlour while she went to call Irene. Rilla threw off her rain-coat and looked at herself critically in themirror over the mantel. Hair, hat, and dress were satisfactory--nothingthere for Miss Irene to make fun of. Rilla remembered how clever andamusing she used to think Irene's biting little comments about othergirls. Well, it had come home to her now. 

Presently, Irene skimmed down, elegantly gowned, with her pale, straw-coloured hair done in the latest and most extreme fashion, and anover-luscious atmosphere of perfume enveloping her. 

"Why how do you do, Miss Blythe?" she said sweetly. "This is a veryunexpected pleasure. "

Rilla had risen to take Irene's chilly finger-tips and now, as she satdown again, she saw something that temporarily stunned her. Irene sawit too, as she sat down, and a little amused, impertinent smileappeared on her lips and hovered there during the rest of the interview. 

On one of Rilla's feet was a smart little steel-buckled shoe and afilmy blue silk stocking. The other was clad in a stout and rathershabby boot and black lisle!

Poor Rilla! She had changed, or begun to change her boots and stockingsafter she had put on her dress. This was the result of doing one thingwith your hands and another with your brain. Oh, what a ridiculousposition to be in--and before Irene Howard of all people--Irene, whowas staring at Rilla's feet as if she had never seen feet before! Andonce she had thought Irene's manner perfection! Everything that Rillahad prepared to say vanished from her memory. Vainly trying to tuck herunlucky foot under her chair, she blurted out a blunt statement. 

"I have come to athk a favour of you, Irene. "

There--lisping! Oh, she had been prepared for humiliation but not tothis extent! Really, there were limits!

"Yes?" said Irene in a cool, questioning tone, lifting hershallowly-set, insolent eyes to Rilla's crimson face for a moment andthen dropping them again as if she could not tear them from theirfascinated gaze at the shabby boot and the gallant shoe. 

Rilla gathered herself together. She would not lisp--she would be calmand composed. 

"Mrs. Channing cannot come because her son is ill in Kingsport, and Ihave come on behalf of the committee to ask you if you will be so kindas to sing for us in her place. " Rilla enunciated every word soprecisely and carefully that she seemed to be reciting a lesson. 

"It's something of a fiddler's invitation, isn't it?" said Irene, withone of her disagreeable smiles. 

"Olive Kirk asked you to help when we first thought of the concert andyou refused, " said Rilla. 

"Why, I could hardly help--then--could I?" asked Irene plaintively. "After you ordered me never to speak to you again? It would have beenvery awkward for us both, don't you think?"

Now for the humble pie. 

"I want to apologize to you for saying that, Irene. " said Rillasteadily. "I should not have said it and I have been very sorry eversince. Will you forgive me?"

"And sing at your concert?" said Irene sweetly and insultingly. 

"If you mean, " said Rilla miserably, "that I would not be apologizingto you if it were not for the concert perhaps that is true. But it isalso true that I have felt ever since it happened that I should nothave said what I did and that I have been sorry for it all winter. Thatis all I can say. If you feel you can't forgive me I suppose there isnothing more to be said. "

"Oh, Rilla dear, don't snap me up like that, " pleaded Irene. "Of courseI'll forgive you--though I did feel awfully about it--how awfully Ihope you'll never know. I cried for weeks over it. And I hadn't said ordone a thing!"

Rilla choked back a retort. After all, there was no use in arguing withIrene, and the Belgians were starving. 

"Don't you think you can help us with the concert, " she forced herselfto say. Oh, if only Irene would stop looking at that boot! Rilla couldjust hear her giving Olive Kirk an account of it. 

"I don't see how I really can at the last moment like this, " protestedIrene. "There isn't time to learn anything new. "

"Oh, you have lots of lovely songs that nobody in the Glen ever heardbefore, " said Rilla, who knew Irene had been going to town all winterfor lessons and that this was only a pretext. "They will all be newdown there. "

"But I have no accompanist, " protested Irene. 

"Una Meredith can accompany you, " said Rilla. 

"Oh, I couldn't ask her, " sighed Irene. "We haven't spoken since lastfall. She was so hateful to me the time of our Sunday-school concertthat I simply had to give her up. "

Dear, dear, was Irene at feud with everybody? As for Una Meredith beinghateful to anybody, the idea was so farcical that Rilla had much ado tokeep from laughing in Irene's very face. 

"Miss Oliver is a beautiful pianist and can play any accompaniment atsight, " said Rilla desperately. "She will play for you and you couldrun over your songs easily tomorrow evening at Ingleside before theconcert. "

"But I haven't anything to wear. My new evening-dress isn't home fromCharlottetown yet, and I simply cannot wear my old one at such a bigaffair. It is too shabby and old-fashioned. "

"Our concert, " said Rilla slowly, "is in aid of Belgian children whoare starving to death. Don't you think you could wear a shabby dressonce for their sake, Irene?"

"Oh, don't you think those accounts we get of the conditions of theBelgians are very much exaggerated?" said Irene. "I'm sure they can'tbe actually starving you know, in the twentieth century. The newspapersalways colour things so highly. "

Rilla concluded that she had humiliated herself enough. There was sucha thing as self-respect. No more coaxing, concert or no concert. Shegot up, boot and all. 

"I am sorry you can't help us, Irene, but since you cannot we must dothe best we can. "

Now this did not suit Irene at all. She desired exceedingly to sing atthat concert, and all her hesitations were merely by way of enhancingthe boon of her final consent. Besides, she really wanted to be friendswith Rilla again. Rilla's whole-hearted, ungrudging adoration had beenvery sweet incense to her. And Ingleside was a very charming house tovisit, especially when a handsome college student like Walter was home. She stopped looking at Rilla's feet. 

"Rilla, darling, don't be so abrupt. I really want to help you, if Ican manage it. Just sit down and let's talk it over. "

"I'm sorry, but I can't. I have to be home soon--Jims has to be settledfor the night, you know. "

"Oh, yes--the baby you are bringing up by the book. It's perfectlysweet of you to do it when you hate children so. How cross you werejust because I kissed him! But we'll forget all that and be chumsagain, won't we? Now, about the concert--I dare say I can run into townon the morning train after my dress, and out again on the afternoon onein plenty of time for the concert, if you'll ask Miss Oliver to playfor me. I couldn't--she's so dreadfully haughty and supercilious thatshe simply paralyses poor little me. "

Rilla did not waste time or breath defending Miss Oliver. She coollythanked Irene, who had suddenly become very amiable and gushing, andgot away. She was very thankful the interview was over. But she knewnow that she and Irene could never be the friends they had been. Friendly, yes--but friends, no. Nor did she wish it. All winter she hadfelt under her other and more serious worries, a little feeling ofregret for her lost chum. Now it was suddenly gone. Irene was not asMrs. Elliott would say, of the race that knew Joseph. Rilla did not sayor think that she had outgrown Irene. Had the thought occurred to hershe would have considered it absurd when she was not yet seventeen andIrene was twenty. But it was the truth. Irene was just what she hadbeen a year ago--just what she would always be. Rilla Blythe's naturein that year had changed and matured and deepened. She found herselfseeing through Irene with a disconcerting clearness--discerning underall her superficial sweetness, her pettiness, her vindictiveness, herinsincerity, her essential cheapness. Irene had lost for ever herfaithful worshipper. 

But not until Rilla had traversed the Upper Glen Road and found herselfin the moon-dappled solitude of Rainbow Valley did she fully recoverher composure of spirit. Then she stopped under a tall wild plum thatwas ghostly white and fair in its misty spring bloom and laughed. 

"There is only one thing of importance just now--and that is that theAllies win the war, " she said aloud. "Therefore, it follows withoutdispute that the fact that I went to see Irene Howard with odd shoesand stockings on is of no importance whatever. Nevertheless, I, BerthaMarilla Blythe, swear solemnly with the moon as witness"--Rilla liftedher hand dramatically to the said moon--"that I will never leave myroom again without looking carefully at both my feet. "

CHAPTER XIV

THE VALLEY OF DECISION

Susan kept the flag flying at Ingleside all the next day, in honour ofItaly's declaration of war. 

"And not before it was time, Mrs. Dr. Dear, considering the way thingshave begun to go on the Russian front. Say what you will, thoseRussians are kittle cattle, the grand duke Nicholas to the contrarynotwithstanding. It is a fortunate thing for Italy that she has come inon the right side, but whether it is as fortunate for the Allies I willnot predict until I know more about Italians than I do now. However, she will give that old reprobate of a Francis Joseph something to thinkabout. A pretty Emperor indeed--with one foot in the grave and yetplotting wholesale murder"--and Susan thumped and kneaded her breadwith as much vicious energy as she could have expended in punchingFrancis Joseph himself if he had been so unlucky as to fall into herclutches. 

Walter had gone to town on the early train, and Nan offered to lookafter Jims for the day and so set Rilla free. Rilla was wildly busy allday, helping to decorate the Glen hall and seeing to a hundred lastthings. The evening was beautiful, in spite of the fact that Mr. Pryorwas reported to have said that he "hoped it would rain pitch forkspoints down, " and to have wantonly kicked Miranda's dog as he said it. Rilla, rushing home from the hall, dressed hurriedly. Everything hadgone surprisingly well at the last; Irene was even then downstairspractising her songs with Miss Oliver; Rilla was excited and happy, forgetful even of the Western front for the moment. It gave her a senseof achievement and victory to have brought her efforts of weeks to sucha successful conclusion. She knew that there had not lacked people whothought and hinted that Rilla Blythe had not the tact or patience toengineer a concert programme. She had shown them! Little snatches ofsong bubbled up from her lips as she dressed. She thought she waslooking very well. Excitement brought a faint, becoming pink into herround creamy cheeks, quite drowning out her few freckles, and her hairgleamed with red-brown lustre. Should she wear crab-apple blossoms init, or her little fillet of pearls? After some agonised wavering shedecided on the crab-apple blossoms and tucked the white waxen clusterbehind her left ear. Now for a final look at her feet. Yes, bothslippers were on. She gave the sleeping Jims a kiss--what a dear littlewarm, rosy, satin face he had--and hurried down the hill to the hall. Already it was filling--soon it was crowded. Her concert was going tobe a brilliant success. 

The first three numbers were successfully over. Rilla was in the littledressing-room behind the platform, looking out on the moonlit harbourand rehearsing her own recitations. She was alone, the rest of theperformers being in the larger room on the other side. Suddenly shefelt two soft bare arms slipping round her waist, then Irene Howarddropped a light kiss on her cheek. 

"Rilla, you sweet thing, you're looking simply angelic to-night. Youhave spunk--I thought you would feel so badly over Walter's enlistingthat you'd hardly be able to bear up at all, and here you are as coolas a cucumber. I wish I had half your nerve. "

Rilla stood perfectly still. She felt no emotion whatever--she feltnothing. The world of feeling had just gone blank. 

"Walter--enlisting"--she heard herself saying--then she heard Irene'saffected little laugh. 

"Why, didn't you know? I thought you did of course, or I wouldn't havementioned it. I am always putting my foot in it, aren't I? Yes, that iswhat he went to town for to-day--he told me coming out on the trainto-night, I was the first person he told. He isn't in khaki yet--theywere out of uniforms--but he will be in a day or two. I always saidWalter had as much pluck as anybody. I assure you I felt proud of him, Rilla, when he told me what he'd done. Oh, there's an end of RickMacAllister's reading. I must fly. I promised I'd play for the nextchorus--Alice Clow has such a headache. "

She was gone--oh, thank God, she was gone! Rilla was alone again, staring out at the unchanged, dream-like beauty of moonlit Four Winds. Feeling was coming back to her--a pang of agony so acute as to bealmost physical seemed to rend her apart. 

"I cannot bear it, " she said. And then came the awful thought thatperhaps she could bear it and that there might be years of this hideoussuffering before her. 

She must get away--she must rush home--she must be alone. She could notgo out there and play for drills and give readings and take part indialogues now. It would spoil half the concert; but that did notmatter--nothing mattered. Was this she, Rilla Blythe--this torturedthing, who had been quite happy a few minutes ago? Outside, a quartettewas singing "We'll never let the old flag fall"--the music seemed to becoming from some remote distance. Why couldn't she cry, as she hadcried when Jem told them he must go? If she could cry perhaps thishorrible something that seemed to have seized on her very life mightlet go. But no tears came! Where were her scarf and coat? She must getaway and hide herself like an animal hurt to the death. 

Was it a coward's part to run away like this? The question came to hersuddenly as if someone else had asked it. She thought of the shamblesof the Flanders front--she thought of her brother and her playmatehelping to hold those fire-swept trenches. What would they think of herif she shirked her little duty here--the humble duty of carrying theprogramme through for her Red Cross? But she couldn't stay--shecouldn't--yet what was it mother had said when Jem went: "When ourwomen fail in courage shall our men be fearless still?" But this--thiswas unbearable. 

Still, she stopped half-way to the door and went back to the window. Irene was singing now; her beautiful voice--the only real thing abouther--soared clear and sweet through the building. Rilla knew that thegirls' Fairy Drill came next. Could she go out there and play for it?Her head was aching now--her throat was burning. Oh, why had Irene toldher just then, when telling could do no good? Irene had been verycruel. Rilla remembered now that more than once that day she had caughther mother looking at her with an odd expression. She had been too busyto wonder what it meant. She understood now. Mother had known whyWalter went to town but wouldn't tell her until the concert was over. What spirit and endurance mother had!

"I must stay here and see things through, " said Rilla, clasping hercold hands together. 

The rest of the evening always seemed like a fevered dream to her. Herbody was crowded by people but her soul was alone in a torture-chamberof its own. Yet she played steadily for the drills and gave herreadings without faltering. She even put on a grotesque old Irishwoman's costume and acted the part in the dialogue which Miranda Pryorhad not taken. But she did not give her "brogue" the inimitable twistshe had given it in the practices, and her readings lacked their usualfire and appeal. As she stood before the audience she saw one faceonly--that of the handsome, dark-haired lad sitting beside hermother--and she saw that same face in the trenches--saw it lying coldand dead under the stars--saw it pining in prison--saw the light of itseyes blotted out--saw a hundred horrible things as she stood there onthe beflagged platform of the Glen hall with her own face whiter thanthe milky crab-blossoms in her hair. Between her numbers she walkedrestlessly up and down the little dressing-room. Would the concertnever end!

It ended at last. Olive Kirk rushed up and told her exultantly thatthey had made a hundred dollars. "That's good, " Rilla saidmechanically. Then she was away from them all--oh, thank God, she wasaway from them all--Walter was waiting for her at the door. He put hisarm through hers silently and they went together down the moonlit road. The frogs were singing in the marshes, the dim, ensilvered fields ofhome lay all around them. The spring night was lovely and appealing. Rilla felt that its beauty was an insult to her pain. She would hatemoonlight for ever. 

"You know?" said Walter. 

"Yes. Irene told me, " answered Rilla chokingly. 

"We didn't want you to know till the evening was over. I knew when youcame out for the drill that you had heard. Little sister, I had to doit. I couldn't live any longer on such terms with myself as I have beensince the Lusitania was sunk. When I pictured those dead women andchildren floating about in that pitiless, ice-cold water--well, atfirst I just felt a sort of nausea with life. I wanted to get out ofthe world where such a thing could happen--shake its accursed dust frommy feet for ever. Then I knew I had to go. "

"There are--plenty--without you. "

"That isn't the point, Rilla-my-Rilla. I'm going for my own sake--tosave my soul alive. It will shrink to something small and mean andlifeless if I don't go. That would be worse than blindness ormutilation or any of the things I've feared. "

"You may--be--killed, " Rilla hated herself for saying it--she knew itwas a weak and cowardly thing to say--but she had rather gone to piecesafter the tension of the evening. 

 "'Comes he slow or comes he fast It is but death who comes at last. '"

quoted Walter. "It's not death I fear--I told you that long ago. Onecan pay too high a price for mere life, little sister. There's so muchhideousness in this war--I've got to go and help wipe it out of theworld. I'm going to fight for the beauty of life, Rilla-my-Rilla--thatis my duty. There may be a higher duty, perhaps--but that is mine. Iowe life and Canada that, and I've got to pay it. Rilla, tonight forthe first time since Jem left I've got back my self-respect. I couldwrite poetry, " Walter laughed. "I've never been able to write a linesince last August. Tonight I'm full of it. Little sister, be brave--youwere so plucky when Jem went. "

"This--is--different, " Rilla had to stop after every word to fight downa wild outburst of sobs. "I loved--Jem--of course--but--when--hewent--away--we thought--the war--would soon--be over--and youare--everything to me, Walter. "

"You must be brave to help me, Rilla-my-Rilla. I'm exaltedtonight--drunk with the excitement of victory over myself--but therewill be other times when it won't be like this--I'll need your helpthen. "

"When--do--you--go?" She must know the worst at once. 

"Not for a week--then we go to Kingsport for training. I suppose we'llgo overseas about the middle of July--we don't know. "

One week--only one week more with Walter! The eyes of youth did not seehow she was to go on living. 

When they turned in at the Ingleside gate Walter stopped in the shadowsof the old pines and drew Rilla close to him. 

"Rilla-my-Rilla, there were girls as sweet and pure as you in Belgiumand Flanders. You--even you--know what their fate was. We must make itimpossible for such things to happen again while the world lasts. You'll help me, won't you?"

"I'll try, Walter, " she said. "Oh, I will try. "

As she clung to him with her face pressed against his shoulder she knewthat it had to be. She accepted the fact then and there. He mustgo--her beautiful Walter with his beautiful soul and dreams and ideals. And she had known all along that it would come sooner or later. She hadseen it coming to her--coming--coming--as one sees the shadow of acloud drawing near over a sunny field, swiftly and inescapably. Amidall her pain she was conscious of an odd feeling of relief in somehidden part of her soul, where a little dull, unacknowledged sorenesshad been lurking all winter. No one--no one could ever call Walter aslacker now. 

Rilla did not sleep that night. Perhaps no one at Ingleside did exceptJims. The body grows slowly and steadily, but the soul grows by leapsand bounds. It may come to its full stature in an hour. From that nightRilla Blythe's soul was the soul of a woman in its capacity forsuffering, for strength, for endurance. 

When the bitter dawn came she rose and went to her window. Below herwas a big apple-tree, a great swelling cone of rosy blossom. Walter hadplanted it years ago when he was a little boy. Beyond Rainbow Valleythere was a cloudy shore of morning with little ripples of sunrisebreaking over it. The far, cold beauty of a lingering star shone aboveit. Why, in this world of springtime loveliness, must hearts break?

Rilla felt arms go about her lovingly, protectingly. It wasmother--pale, large-eyed mother. 

"Oh, mother, how can you bear it?" she cried wildly. "Rilla, dear, I'veknown for several days that Walter meant to go. I've had time to--torebel and grow reconciled. We must give him up. There is a Call greaterand more insistent than the call of our love--he has listened to it. Wemust not add to the bitterness of his sacrifice. "

"Our sacrifice is greater than his, " cried Rilla passionately. "Ourboys give only themselves. We give them. "

Before Mrs. Blythe could reply Susan stuck her head in at the door, never troubling over such frills of etiquette as knocking. Her eyeswere suspiciously red but all she said was, "Will I bring up your breakfast, Mrs. Dr. Dear. "

"No, no, Susan. We will all be down presently. Do you know--that Walterhas joined up. "

"Yes, Mrs. Dr. Dear. The doctor told me last night. I suppose theAlmighty has His own reasons for allowing such things. We must submitand endeavour to look on the bright side. It may cure him of being apoet, at least"--Susan still persisted in thinking that poets andtramps were tarred with the same brush--"and that would be something. But thank God, " she muttered in a lower tone, "that Shirley is not oldenough to go. "

"Isn't that the same thing as thanking Him that some other woman's sonhas to go in Shirley's place?" asked the doctor, pausing on thethreshold. 

"No, it is not, doctor dear, " said Susan defiantly, as she picked upJims, who was opening his big dark eyes and stretching up his dimpledpaws. "Do not you put words in my mouth that I would never dream ofuttering. I am a plain woman and cannot argue with you, but I do notthank God that anybody has to go. I only know that it seems they dohave to go, unless we all want to be Kaiserised--for I can assure youthat the Monroe doctrine, whatever it is, is nothing to tie to, withWoodrow Wilson behind it. The Huns, Dr. Dear, will never be brought tobrook by notes. And now, " concluded Susan, tucking Jims in the crook ofher gaunt arms and marching downstairs, "having cried my cry and saidmy say I shall take a brace, and if I cannot look pleasant I will lookas pleasant as I can. "

CHAPTER XV

UNTIL THE DAY BREAK

"The Germans have recaptured Premysl, " said Susan despairingly, lookingup from her newspaper, "and now I suppose we will have to begin callingit by that uncivilised name again. Cousin Sophia was in when the mailcame and when she heard the news she hove a sigh up from the depths ofher stomach, Mrs. Dr. Dear, and said, 'Ah yes, and they will getPetrograd next I have no doubt. ' I said to her, 'My knowledge ofgeography is not so profound as I wish it was but I have an idea thatit is quite a walk from Premysl to Petrograd. ' Cousin Sophia sighedagain and said, 'The Grand Duke Nicholas is not the man I took him tobe. ' 'Do not let him know that, ' said I. 'It might hurt his feelingsand he has likely enough to worry him as it is. But you cannot cheerCousin Sophia up, no matter how sarcastic you are, Mrs. Dr. Dear. Shesighed for the third time and groaned out, 'But the Russians areretreating fast, ' and I said, 'Well, what of it? They have plenty ofroom for retreating, have they not?' But all the same, Mrs. Dr. Dear, though I would never admit it to Cousin Sophia, I do not like thesituation on the eastern front. "

Nobody else liked it either; but all summer the Russian retreat wenton--a long-drawn-out agony. 

"I wonder if I shall ever again be able to await the coming of the mailwith feelings of composure--never to speak of pleasure, " said GertrudeOliver. "The thought that haunts me night and day is--will the Germanssmash Russia completely and then hurl their eastern army, flushed withvictory, against the western front?"

"They will not, Miss Oliver dear, " said Susan, assuming the role ofprophetess. 

"In the first place, the Almighty will not allow it, in the second, Grand Duke Nicholas, though he may have been a disappointment to us insome respects, knows how to run away decently and in order, and that isa very useful knowledge when Germans are chasing you. Norman Douglasdeclares he is just luring them on and killing ten of them to one heloses. But I am of the opinion he cannot help himself and is just doingthe best he can under the circumstances, the same as the rest of us. Sodo not go so far afield to borrow trouble, Miss Oliver dear, when thereis plenty of it already camping on our very doorstep. "

Walter had gone to Kingsport the first of June. Nan, Di and Faith hadgone also to do Red Cross work in their vacation. In mid-July Waltercame home for a week's leave before going overseas. Rilla had livedthrough the days of his absence on the hope of that week, and now thatit had come she drank every minute of it thirstily, hating even thehours she had to spend in sleep, they seemed such a waste of preciousmoments. In spite of its sadness, it was a beautiful week, full ofpoignant, unforgettable hours, when she and Walter had long walks andtalks and silences together. He was all her own and she knew that hefound strength and comfort in her sympathy and understanding. It wasvery wonderful to know she meant so much to him--the knowledge helpedher through moments that would otherwise have been unendurable, andgave her power to smile--and even to laugh a little. When Walter hadgone she might indulge in the comfort of tears, but not while he washere. She would not even let herself cry at night, lest her eyes shouldbetray her to him in the morning. 

On his last evening at home they went together to Rainbow Valley andsat down on the bank of the brook, under the White Lady, where the gayrevels of olden days had been held in the cloudless years. RainbowValley was roofed over with a sunset of unusual splendour that night; awonderful grey dusk just touched with starlight followed it; and thencame moonshine, hinting, hiding, revealing, lighting up little dellsand hollows here, leaving others in dark, velvet shadow. 

"When I am 'somewhere in France, '" said Walter, looking around him witheager eyes on all the beauty his soul loved, "I shall remember thesestill, dewy, moon-drenched places. The balsam of the fir-trees; thepeace of those white pools of moonshine; the 'strength of thehills'--what a beautiful old Biblical phrase that is. Rilla! Look atthose old hills around us--the hills we looked up at as children, wondering what lay for us in the great world beyond them. How calm andstrong they are--how patient and changeless--like the heart of a goodwoman. Rilla-my-Rilla, do you know what you have been to me the pastyear? I want to tell you before I go. I could not have lived through itif it had not been for you, little loving, believing heart. "

Rilla dared not try to speak. She slipped her hand into Walter's andpressed it hard. 

"And when I'm over there, Rilla, in that hell upon earth which men whohave forgotten God have made, it will be the thought of you that willhelp me most. I know you'll be as plucky and patient as you have shownyourself to be this past year--I'm not afraid for you. I know that nomatter what happens, you'll be Rilla-my-Rilla--no matter what happens. "

Rilla repressed tear and sigh, but she could not repress a littleshiver, and Walter knew that he had said enough. After a moment ofsilence, in which each made an unworded promise to each other, he said, "Now we won't be sober any more. We'll look beyond the years--to thetime when the war will be over and Jem and Jerry and I will comemarching home and we'll all be happy again. "

"We won't be--happy--in the same way, " said Rilla. 

"No, not in the same way. Nobody whom this war has touched will ever behappy again in quite the same way. But it will be a better happiness, Ithink, little sister--a happiness we've earned. We were very happybefore the war, weren't we? With a home like Ingleside, and a fatherand mother like ours we couldn't help being happy. But that happinesswas a gift from life and love; it wasn't really ours--life could takeit back at any time. It can never take away the happiness we win forourselves in the way of duty. I've realised that since I went intokhaki. In spite of my occasional funks, when I fall to living overthings beforehand, I've been happy since that night in May. Rilla, beawfully good to mother while I'm away. It must be a horrible thing tobe a mother in this war--the mothers and sisters and wives andsweethearts have the hardest times. Rilla, you beautiful little thing, are you anybody's sweetheart? If you are, tell me before I go. "

"No, " said Rilla. Then, impelled by a wish to be absolutely frank withWalter in this talk that might be the last they would ever have, sheadded, blushing wildly in the moonlight, "but if--Kenneth Ford--wantedme to be--"

"I see, " said Walter. "And Ken's in khaki, too. Poor little girlie, it's a bit hard for you all round. Well, I'm not leaving any girl tobreak her heart about me--thank God for that. "

Rilla glanced up at the Manse on the hill. She could see a light in UnaMeredith's window. She felt tempted to say something--then she knew shemust not. It was not her secret: and, anyway, she did not know--sheonly suspected. 

Walter looked about him lingeringly and lovingly. This spot had alwaysbeen so dear to him. What fun they all had had here lang syne. Phantomsof memory seemed to pace the dappled paths and peep merrily through theswinging boughs--Jem and Jerry, bare-legged, sunburned schoolboys, fishing in the brook and frying trout over the old stone fireplace; Nanand Di and Faith, in their dimpled, fresh-eyed childish beauty; Una thesweet and shy, Carl, poring over ants and bugs, little slangy, sharp-tongued, good-hearted Mary Vance--the old Walter that had beenhimself lying on the grass reading poetry or wandering through palacesof fancy. They were all there around him--he could see them almost asplainly as he saw Rilla--as plainly as he had once seen the Pied Piperpiping down the valley in a vanished twilight. And they said to him, those gay little ghosts of other days, "We were the children ofyesterday, Walter--fight a good fight for the children of to-day andto-morrow. "

"Where are you, Walter, " cried Rilla, laughing a little. "Comeback--come back. "

Walter came back with a long breath. He stood up and looked about himat the beautiful valley of moonlight, as if to impress on his mind andheart every charm it possessed--the great dark plumes of the firsagainst the silvery sky, the stately White Lady, the old magic of thedancing brook, the faithful Tree Lovers, the beckoning, tricksy paths. 

"I shall see it so in my dreams, " he said, as he turned away. 

They went back to Ingleside. Mr. And Mrs. Meredith were there, withGertrude Oliver, who had come from Lowbridge to say good-bye. Everybodywas quite cheerful and bright, but nobody said much about the war beingsoon over, as they had said when Jem went away. They did not talk aboutthe war at all--and they thought of nothing else. At last they gatheredaround the piano and sang the grand old hymn:

 "Oh God, our help in ages past Our hope for years to come. Our shelter from the stormy blast And our eternal home. "

"We all come back to God in these days of soul-sifting, " said Gertrudeto John Meredith. "There have been many days in the past when I didn'tbelieve in God--not as God--only as the impersonal Great First Cause ofthe scientists. I believe in Him now--I have to--there's nothing elseto fall back on but God--humbly, starkly, unconditionally. "

"'Our help in ages past'--'the same yesterday, to-day and for ever, '"said the minister gently. "When we forget God--He remembers us. "

There was no crowd at the Glen Station the next morning to see Walteroff. It was becoming a commonplace for a khaki clad boy to board thatearly morning train after his last leave. Besides his own, only theManse folk were there, and Mary Vance. Mary had sent her Miller off theweek before, with a determined grin, and now considered herselfentitled to give expert opinion on how such partings should beconducted. 

"The main thing is to smile and act as if nothing was happening, " sheinformed the Ingleside group. "The boys all hate the sob act likepoison. Miller told me I wasn't to come near the station if I couldn'tkeep from bawling. So I got through with my crying beforehand, and atthe last I said to him, 'Good luck, Miller, and if you come back you'llfind I haven't changed any, and if you don't come back I'll always beproud you went, and in any case don't fall in love with a French girl. 'Miller swore he wouldn't, but you never can tell about thosefascinating foreign hussies. Anyhow, the last sight he had of me I wassmiling to my limit. Gee, all the rest of the day my face felt as if ithad been starched and ironed into a smile. "

In spite of Mary's advice and example Mrs. Blythe, who had sent Jem offwith a smile, could not quite manage one for Walter. But at least noone cried. Dog Monday came out of his lair in the shipping-shed and satdown close to Walter, thumping his tail vigorously on the boards of theplatform whenever Walter spoke to him, and looking up with confidenteyes, as if to say, "I know you'll find Jem and bring him back to me. "

"So long, old fellow, " said Carl Meredith cheerfully, when thegood-byes had to be said. "Tell them over there to keep their spiritsup--I am coming along presently. "

"Me too, " said Shirley laconically, proffering a brown paw. Susan heardhim and her face turned very grey. 

Una shook hands quietly, looking at him with wistful, sorrowful, dark-blue eyes. But then Una's eyes had always been wistful. Walterbent his handsome black head in its khaki cap and kissed her with thewarm, comradely kiss of a brother. He had never kissed her before, andfor a fleeting moment Una's face betrayed her, if anyone had noticed. But nobody did; the conductor was shouting "all aboard"; everybody wastrying to look very cheerful. Walter turned to Rilla; she held hishands and looked up at him. She would not see him again until the daybroke and the shadows vanished--and she knew not if that daybreak wouldbe on this side of the grave or beyond it. 

"Good-bye, " she said. 

On her lips it lost all the bitterness it had won through the ages ofparting and bore instead all the sweetness of the old loves of all thewomen who had ever loved and prayed for the beloved. 

"Write me often and bring Jims up faithfully, according to the gospelof Morgan, " Walter said lightly, having said all his serious things thenight before in Rainbow Valley. But at the last moment he took her facebetween his hands and looked deep into her gallant eyes. "God blessyou, Rilla-my-Rilla, " he said softly and tenderly. After all it was nota hard thing to fight for a land that bore daughters like this. 

He stood on the rear platform and waved to them as the train pulledout. Rilla was standing by herself, but Una Meredith came to her andthe two girls who loved him most stood together and held each other'scold hands as the train rounded the curve of the wooded hill. 

Rilla spent an hour in Rainbow Valley that morning about which shenever said a word to anyone; she did not even write in her diary aboutit; when it was over she went home and made rompers for Jims. In theevening she went to a Junior Red Cross committee meeting and wasseverely businesslike. 

"You would never suppose, " said Irene Howard to Olive Kirk afterwards, "that Walter had left for the front only this morning. But some peoplereally have no depth of feeling. I often wish I could take things aslightly as Rilla Blythe. "

CHAPTER XVI

REALISM AND ROMANCE

"Warsaw has fallen, " said Dr. Blythe with a resigned air, as he broughtthe mail in one warm August day. 

Gertrude and Mrs. Blythe looked dismally at each other, and Rilla, whowas feeding Jims a Morganized diet from a carefully sterilized spoon, laid the said spoon down on his tray, utterly regardless of germs, andsaid, "Oh, dear me, " in as tragic a tone as if the news had come as athunderbolt instead of being a foregone conclusion from the precedingweek's dispatches. They had thought they were quite resigned toWarsaw's fall but now they knew they had, as always, hoped against hope. 

"Now, let us take a brace, " said Susan. "It is not the terrible thingwe have been thinking. I read a dispatch three columns long in theMontreal Herald yesterday that proved that Warsaw was not importantfrom a military point of view at all. So let us take the military pointof view, doctor dear. "

"I read that dispatch, too, and it has encouraged me immensely, " saidGertrude. "I knew then and I know now that it was a lie from beginningto end. But I am in that state of mind where even a lie is a comfort, providing it is a cheerful lie. "

"In that case, Miss Oliver dear, the German official reports ought tobe all you need, " said Susan sarcastically. "I never read them nowbecause they make me so mad I cannot put my thoughts properly on mywork after a dose of them. Even this news about Warsaw has taken theedge off my afternoon's plans. Misfortunes never come singly. I spoiledmy baking of bread today--and now Warsaw has fallen--and here is littleKitchener bent on choking himself to death. "

Jims was evidently trying to swallow his spoon, germs and all. Rillarescued him mechanically and was about to resume the operation offeeding him when a casual remark of her father's sent such a shock andthrill over her that for the second time she dropped that doomed spoon. 

"Kenneth Ford is down at Martin West's over-harbour, " the doctor wassaying. "His regiment was on its way to the front but was held up inKingsport for some reason, and Ken got leave of absence to come over tothe Island. "

"I hope he will come up to see us, " exclaimed Mrs. Blythe. 

"He only has a day or two off, I believe, " said the doctor absently. 

Nobody noticed Rilla's flushed face and trembling hands. Even the mostthoughtful and watchful of parents do not see everything that goes onunder their very noses. Rilla made a third attempt to give thelong-suffering Jims his dinner, but all she could think of was thequestion--Would Ken come to see her before he went away? She had notheard from him for a long while. Had he forgotten her completely? If hedid not come she would know that he had. Perhaps there was even--someother girl back there in Toronto. Of course there was. She was a littlefool to be thinking about him at all. She would not think about him. Ifhe came, well and good. It would only be courteous of him to make afarewell call at Ingleside where he had often been a guest. If he didnot come--well and good, too. It did not matter very much. Nobody wasgoing to fret. That was all settled comfortably--she was quiteindifferent--but meanwhile Jims was being fed with a haste andrecklessness that would have filled the soul of Morgan with horror. Jims himself didn't like it, being a methodical baby, accustomed toswallowing spoonfuls with a decent interval for breath between each. Heprotested, but his protests availed him nothing. Rilla, as far as thecare and feeding of infants was concerned, was utterly demoralized. 

Then the telephone-bell rang. There was nothing unusual about thetelephone ringing. It rang on an average every ten minutes atIngleside. But Rilla dropped Jims' spoon again--on the carpet thistime--and flew to the 'phone as if life depended on her getting therebefore anybody else. Jims, his patience exhausted, lifted up his voiceand wept. 

"Hello, is this Ingleside?"

"Yes. "

"That you, Rilla?" "Yeth--yeth. " Oh, why couldn't Jims stop howling forjust one little minute? Why didn't somebody come in and choke him?

"Know who's speaking?"

Oh, didn't she know! Wouldn't she know that voice anywhere--at any time?

"It's Ken--isn't it?"

"Sure thing. I'm here for a look-in. Can I come up to Ingleside tonightand see you?"

"Of courthe. "

Had he used "you" in the singular or plural sense? Presently she wouldwring Jims' neck--oh, what was Ken saying?

"See here, Rilla, can you arrange that there won't be more than a fewdozen people round? Understand? I can't make my meaning clearer overthis bally rural line. There are a dozen receivers down. "

Did she understand! Yes, she understood. 

"I'll try, " she said. 

"I'll be up about eight then. By-by. "

Rilla hung up the 'phone and flew to Jims. But she did not wring thatinjured infant's neck. Instead she snatched him bodily out of hischair, crushed him against her face, kissed him rapturously on hismilky mouth, and danced wildly around the room with him in her arms. After this Jims was relieved to find that she returned to sanity, gavehim the rest of his dinner properly, and tucked him away for hisafternoon nap with the little lullaby he loved best of all. She sewedat Red Cross shirts for the rest of the afternoon and built a crystalcastle of dreams, all a-quiver with rainbows. Ken wanted to see her--tosee her alone. That could be easily managed. Shirley wouldn't botherthem, father and mother were going to the Manse, Miss Oliver neverplayed gooseberry, and Jims always slept the clock round from seven toseven. She would entertain Ken on the veranda--it would bemoonlight--she would wear her white georgette dress and do her hairup--yes, she would--at least in a low knot at the nape of her neck. Mother couldn't object to that, surely. Oh, how wonderful and romanticit would be! Would Ken say anything--he must mean to say something orwhy should he be so particular about seeing her alone? What if itrained--Susan had been complaining about Mr. Hyde that morning! What ifsome officious Junior Red called to discuss Belgians and shirts? Or, worst of all, what if Fred Arnold dropped in? He did occasionally. 

The evening came at last and was all that could be desired in anevening. The doctor and his wife went to the Manse, Shirley and MissOliver went they alone knew where, Susan went to the store forhousehold supplies, and Jims went to Dreamland. Rilla put on hergeorgette gown, knotted up her hair and bound a little double string ofpearls around it. Then she tucked a cluster of pale pink baby roses ather belt. Would Ken ask her for a rose for a keepsake? She knew thatJem had carried to the trenches in Flanders a faded rose that FaithMeredith had kissed and given him the night before he left. 

Rilla looked very sweet when she met Ken in the mingled moonlight andvine shadows of the big veranda. The hand she gave him was cold and shewas so desperately anxious not to lisp that her greeting was prim andprecise. How handsome and tall Kenneth looked in his lieutenant'suniform! It made him seem older, too--so much so that Rilla felt ratherfoolish. Hadn't it been the height of absurdity for her to suppose thatthis splendid young officer had anything special to say to her, littleRilla Blythe of Glen St. Mary? Likely she hadn't understood him afterall--he had only meant that he didn't want a mob of folks around makinga fuss over him and trying to lionize him, as they had probably doneover-harbour. Yes, of course, that was all he meant--and she, littleidiot, had gone and vainly imagined that he didn't want anybody buther. And he would think she had manoeuvred everybody away so that theycould be alone together, and he would laugh to himself at her. 

"This is better luck than I hoped for, " said Ken, leaning back in hischair and looking at her with very unconcealed admiration in hiseloquent eyes. "I was sure someone would be hanging about and it wasjust you I wanted to see, Rilla-my-Rilla. "

Rilla's dream castle flashed into the landscape again. This wasunmistakable enough certainly--not much doubt as to his meaning here. 

"There aren't--so many of us--to poke around as there used to be, " shesaid softly. 

"No, that's so, " said Ken gently. "Jem and Walter and the girlsaway--it makes a big blank, doesn't it? But--" he leaned forward untilhis dark curls almost brushed her hair--"doesn't Fred Arnold try tofill the blank occasionally. I've been told so. "

At this moment, before Rilla could make any reply, Jims began to cry atthe top of his voice in the room whose open window was just abovethem--Jims, who hardly ever cried in the evening. Moreover, he wascrying, as Rilla knew from experience, with a vim and energy thatbetokened that he had been already whimpering softly unheard for sometime and was thoroughly exasperated. When Jims started in crying likethat he made a thorough job of it. Rilla knew that there was no use tosit still and pretend to ignore him. He wouldn't stop; and conversationof any kind was out of the question when such shrieks and howls werefloating over your head. Besides, she was afraid Kenneth would thinkshe was utterly unfeeling if she sat still and let a baby cry likethat. He was not likely acquainted with Morgan's invaluable volume. 

She got up. "Jims has had a nightmare, I think. He sometimes has oneand he is always badly frightened by it. Excuse me for a moment. "

Rilla flew upstairs, wishing quite frankly that soup tureens had neverbeen invented. But when Jims, at sight of her, lifted his little armsentreatingly and swallowed several sobs, with tears rolling down hischeeks, resentment went out of her heart. After all, the poor darlingwas frightened. She picked him up gently and rocked him soothinglyuntil his sobs ceased and his eyes closed. Then she essayed to lay himdown in his crib. Jims opened his eyes and shrieked a protest. Thisperformance was repeated twice. Rilla grew desperate. She couldn'tleave Ken down there alone any longer--she had been away nearly half anhour already. With a resigned air she marched downstairs, carryingJims, and sat down on the veranda. It was, no doubt, a ridiculous thingto sit and cuddle a contrary war-baby when your best young man wasmaking his farewell call, but there was nothing else to be done. 

Jims was supremely happy. He kicked his little pink-soled feetrapturously out under his white nighty and gave one of his rare laughs. He was beginning to be a very pretty baby; his golden hair curled insilken ringlets all over his little round head and his eyes werebeautiful. 

"He's a decorative kiddy all right, isn't he?" said Ken. 

"His looks are very well, " said Rilla, bitterly, as if to imply thatthey were much the best of him. Jims, being an astute infant, sensedtrouble in the atmosphere and realized that it was up to him to clearit away. He turned his face up to Rilla, smiled adorably and said, clearly and beguilingly, "Will--Will. "

It was the very first time he had spoken a word or tried to speak. Rilla was so delighted that she forgot her grudge against him. Sheforgave him with a hug and kiss. Jims, understanding that he wasrestored to favour, cuddled down against her just where a gleam oflight from the lamp in the living-room struck across his hair andturned it into a halo of gold against her breast. 

Kenneth sat very still and silent, looking at Rilla--at the delicate, girlish silhouette of her, her long lashes, her dented lip, heradorable chin. In the dim moonlight, as she sat with her head bent alittle over Jims, the lamplight glinting on her pearls until theyglistened like a slender nimbus, he thought she looked exactly like theMadonna that hung over his mother's desk at home. He carried thatpicture of her in his heart to the horror of the battlefields ofFrance. He had had a strong fancy for Rilla Blythe ever since the nightof the Four Winds dance; but it was when he saw her there, with littleJims in her arms, that he loved her and realized it. And all the while, poor Rilla was sitting, disappointed and humiliated, feeling that herlast evening with Ken was spoiled and wondering why things always hadto go so contrarily outside of books. She felt too absurd to try totalk. Evidently Ken was completely disgusted, too, since he was sittingthere in such stony silence. 

Hope revived momentarily when Jims went so thoroughly asleep that shethought it would be safe to lay him down on the couch in theliving-room. But when she came out again Susan was sitting on theveranda, loosening her bonnet strings with the air of one who meant tostay where she was for some time. 

"Have you got your baby to sleep?" she asked kindly. 

Your baby! Really, Susan might have more tact. 

"Yes, " said Rilla shortly. 

Susan laid her parcels on the reed table, as one determined to do herduty. She was very tired but she must help Rilla out. Here was KennethFord who had come to call on the family and they were all unfortunatelyout, and "the poor child" had had to entertain him alone. But Susan hadcome to her rescue--Susan would do her part no matter how tired she was. 

"Dear me, how you have grown up, " she said, looking at Ken's six feetof khaki uniform without the least awe. Susan had grown used to khakinow, and at sixty-four even a lieutenant's uniform is just clothes andnothing else. "It is an amazing thing how fast children do grow up. Rilla here, now, is almost fifteen. "

"I'm going on seventeen, Susan, " cried Rilla almost passionately. Shewas a whole month past sixteen. It was intolerable of Susan. 

"It seems just the other day that you were all babies, " said Susan, ignoring Rilla's protest. "You were really the prettiest baby I eversaw, Ken, though your mother had an awful time trying to cure you ofsucking your thumb. Do you remember the day I spanked you?"

"No, " said Ken. 

"Oh well, I suppose you would be too young--you were only about fourand you were here with your mother and you insisted on teasing Nanuntil she cried. I had tried several ways of stopping you but noneavailed, and I saw that a spanking was the only thing that would serve. So I picked you up and laid you across my knee and lambasted you well. You howled at the top of your voice but you left Nan alone after that. "

Rilla was writhing. Hadn't Susan any realization that she wasaddressing an officer of the Canadian Army? Apparently she had not. Oh, what would Ken think? "I suppose you do not remember the time yourmother spanked you either, " continued Susan, who seemed to be bent onreviving tender reminiscences that evening. "I shall never, no never, forget it. She was up here one night with you when you were aboutthree, and you and Walter were playing out in the kitchen yard with akitten. I had a big puncheon of rainwater by the spout which I wasreserving for making soap. And you and Walter began quarrelling overthe kitten. Walter was at one side of the puncheon standing on a chair, holding the kitten, and you were standing on a chair at the other side. You leaned across that puncheon and grabbed the kitten and pulled. Youwere always a great hand for taking what you wanted without too muchceremony. Walter held on tight and the poor kitten yelled but youdragged Walter and the kitten half over and then you both lost yourbalance and tumbled into that puncheon, kitten and all. If I had notbeen on the spot you would both have been drowned. I flew to the rescueand hauled you all three out before much harm was done, and yourmother, who had seen it all from the upstairs window, came down andpicked you up, dripping as you were, and gave you a beautiful spanking. Ah, " said Susan with a sigh, "those were happy old days at Ingleside. "

"Must have been, " said Ken. His voice sounded queer and stiff. Rillasupposed he was hopelessly enraged. The truth was he dared not trusthis voice lest it betray his frantic desire to laugh. 

"Rilla here, now, " said Susan, looking affectionately at that unhappydamsel, "never was much spanked. She was a real well-behaved child forthe most part. But her father did spank her once. She got two bottlesof pills out of his office and dared Alice Clow to see which of themcould swallow all the pills first, and if her father had not happenedin the nick of time those two children would have been corpses bynight. As it was, they were both sick enough shortly after. But thedoctor spanked Rilla then and there and he made such a thorough job ofit that she never meddled with anything in his office afterwards. Wehear a great deal nowadays of something that is called 'moralpersuasion, ' but in my opinion a good spanking and no naggingafterwards is a much better thing. "

Rilla wondered viciously whether Susan meant to relate all the familyspankings. But Susan had finished with the subject and branched off toanother cheerful one. 

"I remember little Tod MacAllister over-harbour killed himself thatvery way, eating up a whole box of fruitatives because he thought theywere candy. It was a very sad affair. He was, " said Susan earnestly, "the very cutest little corpse I ever laid my eyes on. It was verycareless of his mother to leave the fruitatives where he could getthem, but she was well-known to be a heedless creature. One day shefound a nest of five eggs as she was going across the fields to churchwith a brand new blue silk dress on. So she put them in the pocket ofher petticoat and when she got to church she forgot all about them andsat down on them and her dress was ruined, not to speak of thepetticoat. Let me see--would not Tod be some relation of yours? Yourgreat grandmother West was a MacAllister. Her brother Amos was aMacDonaldite in religion. I am told he used to take the jerks somethingfearful. But you look more like your great grandfather West than theMacAllisters. He died of a paralytic stroke quite early in life. "

"Did you see anybody at the store?" asked Rilla desperately, in thefaint hope of directing Susan's conversation into more agreeablechannels. 

"Nobody except Mary Vance, " said Susan, "and she was stepping round asbrisk as the Irishman's flea. "

What terrible similes Susan used! Would Kenneth think she acquired themfrom the family!

"To hear Mary talk about Miller Douglas you would think he was the onlyGlen boy who had enlisted, " Susan went on. "But of course she alwaysdid brag and she has some good qualities I am willing to admit, thoughI did not think so that time she chased Rilla here through the villagewith a dried codfish till the poor child fell, heels over head, intothe puddle before Carter Flagg's store. "

Rilla went cold all over with wrath and shame. Were there any moredisgraceful scenes in her past that Susan could rake up? As for Ken, hecould have howled over Susan's speeches, but he would not so insult theduenna of his lady, so he sat with a preternaturally solemn face whichseemed to poor Rilla a haughty and offended one. 

"I paid eleven cents for a bottle of ink tonight, " complained Susan. "Ink is twice as high as it was last year. Perhaps it is becauseWoodrow Wilson has been writing so many notes. It must cost himconsiderable. My cousin Sophia says Woodrow Wilson is not the man sheexpected him to be--but then no man ever was. Being an old maid, I donot know much about men and have never pretended to, but my cousinSophia is very hard on them, although she married two of them, whichyou might think was a fair share. Albert Crawford's chimney blew downin that big gale we had last week, and when Sophia heard the bricksclattering on the roof she thought it was a Zeppelin raid and went intohysterics. And Mrs. Albert Crawford says that of the two things shewould have preferred the Zeppelin raid. "

Rilla sat limply in her chair like one hypnotized. She knew Susan wouldstop talking when she was ready to stop and that no earthly power couldmake her stop any sooner. As a rule, she was very fond of Susan butjust now she hated her with a deadly hatred. It was ten o'clock. Kenwould soon have to go--the others would soon be home--and she had noteven had a chance to explain to Ken that Fred Arnold filled no blank inher life nor ever could. Her rainbow castle lay in ruins round her. 

Kenneth got up at last. He realized that Susan was there to stay aslong as he did, and it was a three mile walk to Martin West'sover-harbour. He wondered if Rilla had put Susan up to this, notwanting to be left alone with him, lest he say something Fred Arnold'ssweetheart did not want to hear. Rilla got up, too, and walked silentlythe length of the veranda with him. They stood there for a moment, Kenon the lower step. The step was half sunk into the earth and mint grewthickly about and over its edge. Often crushed by so many passing feetit gave out its essence freely, and the spicy odour hung round themlike a soundless, invisible benediction. Ken looked up at Rilla, whosehair was shining in the moonlight and whose eyes were pools ofallurement. All at once he felt sure there was nothing in that gossipabout Fred Arnold. 

"Rilla, " he said in a sudden, intense whisper, "you are the sweetestthing. "

Rilla flushed and looked at Susan. Ken looked, too, and saw thatSusan's back was turned. He put his arm about Rilla and kissed her. Itwas the first time Rilla had ever been kissed. She thought perhaps sheought to resent it but she didn't. Instead, she glanced timidly intoKenneth's seeking eyes and her glance was a kiss. 

"Rilla-my-Rilla, " said Ken, "will you promise that you won't let anyoneelse kiss you until I come back?"

"Yes, " said Rilla, trembling and thrilling. 

Susan was turning round. Ken loosened his hold and stepped to the walk. 

"Good-bye, " he said casually. Rilla heard herself saying it just ascasually. She stood and watched him down the walk, out of the gate, anddown the road. When the fir wood hid him from her sight she suddenlysaid "Oh, " in a choked way and ran down to the gate, sweet blossomythings catching at her skirts as she ran. Leaning over the gate she sawKenneth walking briskly down the road, over the bars of tree shadowsand moonlight, his tall, erect figure grey in the white radiance. As hereached the turn he stopped and looked back and saw her standing amidthe tall white lilies by the gate. He waved his hand--she wavedhers--he was gone around the turn. 

Rilla stood there for a little while, gazing across the fields of mistand silver. She had heard her mother say that she loved turns inroads--they were so provocative and alluring. Rilla thought she hatedthem. She had seen Jem and Jerry vanish from her around a bend in theroad--then Walter--and now Ken. Brothers and playmate andsweetheart--they were all gone, never, it might be, to return. Yetstill the Piper piped and the dance of death went on. 

When Rilla walked slowly back to the house Susan was still sitting bythe veranda table and Susan was sniffing suspiciously. 

"I have been thinking, Rilla dear, of the old days in the House ofDreams, when Kenneth's mother and father were courting and Jem was alittle baby and you were not born or thought of. It was a very romanticaffair and she and your mother were such chums. To think I should havelived to see her son going to the front. As if she had not had enoughtrouble in her early life without this coming upon her! But we musttake a brace and see it through. "

All Rilla's anger against Susan had evaporated. With Ken's kiss stillburning on her lips, and the wonderful significance of the promise hehad asked thrilling heart and soul, she could not be angry with anyone. She put her slim white hand into Susan's brown, work-hardened one andgave it a squeeze. Susan was a faithful old dear and would lay down herlife for any one of them. 

"You are tired, Rilla dear, and had better go to bed, " Susan said, patting her hand. "I noticed you were too tired to talk tonight. I amglad I came home in time to help you out. It is very tiresome trying toentertain young men when you are not accustomed to it. "

Rilla carried Jims upstairs and went to bed, but not before she had satfor a long time at her window reconstructing her rainbow castle, withseveral added domes and turrets. 

"I wonder, " she said to herself, "if I am, or am not, engaged toKenneth Ford. "

CHAPTER XVII

THE WEEKS WEAR BY

Rilla read her first love letter in her Rainbow Valley fir-shadowednook, and a girl's first love letter, whatever blase, older people maythink of it, is an event of tremendous importance in the teens. AfterKenneth's regiment had left Kingsport there came a fortnight ofdully-aching anxiety and when the congregation sang in Church on Sundayevenings, "Oh, hear us when we cry to Thee For those in peril on the sea, "

Rilla's voice always failed her; for with the words came a horriblyvivid mind picture of a submarined ship sinking beneath pitiless wavesamid the struggles and cries of drowning men. Then word came thatKenneth's regiment had arrived safely in England; and now, at last, here was his letter. It began with something that made Rilla supremelyhappy for the moment and ended with a paragraph that crimsoned hercheeks with the wonder and thrill and delight of it. Between beginningand ending the letter was just such a jolly, newsy epistle as Ken mighthave written to anyone; but for the sake of that beginning and endingRilla slept with the letter under her pillow for weeks, sometimeswaking in the night to slip her fingers under and just touch it, andlooked with secret pity on other girls whose sweethearts could neverhave written them anything half so wonderful and exquisite. Kenneth wasnot the son of a famous novelist for nothing. He "had a way" ofexpressing things in a few poignant, significant words that seemed tosuggest far more than they uttered, and never grew stale or flat orfoolish with ever so many scores of readings. Rilla went home fromRainbow Valley as if she flew rather than walked. 

But such moments of uplift were rare that autumn. To be sure, there wasone day in September when great news came of a big Allied victory inthe west and Susan ran out to hoist the flag--the first time she hadhoisted it since the Russian line broke and the last time she was tohoist it for many dismal moons. 

"Likely the Big Push has begun at last, Mrs. Dr. Dear, " she exclaimed, "and we will soon see the finish of the Huns. Our boys will be home byChristmas now. Hurrah!"

Susan was ashamed of herself for hurrahing the minute she had done it, and apologized meekly for such an outburst of juvenility. "But indeed, Mrs. Dr. Dear, this good news has gone to my head after this awfulsummer of Russian slumps and Gallipoli setbacks. "

"Good news!" said Miss Oliver bitterly. "I wonder if the women whosemen have been killed for it will call it good news. Just because ourown men are not on that part of the front we are rejoicing as if thevictory had cost no lives. "

"Now, Miss Oliver dear, do not take that view of it, " deprecated Susan. "We have not had much to rejoice over of late and yet men were beingkilled just the same. Do not let yourself slump like poor CousinSophia. She said, when the word came, 'Ah, it is nothing but a rift inthe clouds. We are up this week but we will be down the next. ' 'Well, Sophia Crawford, ' said I, --for I will never give in to her, Mrs. Dr. Dear--'God himself cannot make two hills without a hollow between them, as I have heard it said, but that is no reason why we should not takethe good of the hills when we are on them. ' But Cousin Sophia moanedon. 'Here is the Gallipolly expedition a failure and the Grand DukeNicholas sent off, and everyone knows the Czar of Rooshia is apro-German and the Allies have no ammunition and Bulgaria is goingagainst us. And the end is not yet, for England and France must bepunished for their deadly sins until they repent in sackcloth andashes. ' 'I think myself, ' I said, 'that they will do their repenting inkhaki and trench mud, and it seems to me that the Huns should have afew sins to repent of also. ' 'They are instruments in the hands of theAlmighty, to purge the garner, ' said Sophia. And then I got mad, Mrs. Dr. Dear, and told her I did not and never would believe that theAlmighty ever took such dirty instruments in hand for any purposewhatever, and that I did not consider it decent for her to be using thewords of Holy Writ as glibly as she was doing in ordinary conversation. She was not, I told her, a minister or even an elder. And for the timebeing I squelched her, Mrs. Dr. Dear. Cousin Sophia has no spirit. Sheis very different from her niece, Mrs. Dean Crawford over-harbour. Youknow the Dean Crawfords had five boys and now the new baby is anotherboy. All the connection and especially Dean Crawford were muchdisappointed because their hearts had been set on a girl; but Mrs. Deanjust laughed and said, 'Everywhere I went this summer I saw the sign"MEN WANTED" staring me in the face. Do you think I could go and have agirl under such circumstances?' There is spirit for you, Mrs. Dr. Dear. But Cousin Sophia would say the child was just so much more cannonfodder. "

Cousin Sophia had full range for her pessimism that gloomy autumn, andeven Susan, incorrigible old optimist as she was, was hard put to itfor cheer. When Bulgaria lined up with Germany Susan only remarkedscornfully, "One more nation anxious for a licking, " but the Greektangle worried her beyond her powers of philosophy to endure calmly. 

"Constantine of Greece has a German wife, Mrs. Dr. Dear, and that factsquelches hope. To think that I should have lived to care what kind ofa wife Constantine of Greece had! The miserable creature is under hiswife's thumb and that is a bad place for any man to be. I am an oldmaid and an old maid has to be independent or she will be squashed out. But if I had been a married woman, Mrs. Dr. Dear, I would have beenmeek and humble. It is my opinion that this Sophia of Greece is a minx. "

Susan was furious when the news came that Venizelos had met withdefeat. "I could spank Constantine and skin him alive afterwards, thatI could, " she exclaimed bitterly. 

"Oh, Susan, I'm surprised at you, " said the doctor, pulling a longface. "Have you no regard for the proprieties? Skin him alive by allmeans but omit the spanking. "

"If he had been well spanked in his younger days he might have moresense now, " retorted Susan. "But I suppose princes are never spanked, more is the pity. I see the Allies have sent him an ultimatum. I couldtell them that it will take more than ultimatums to skin a snake likeConstantine. Perhaps the Allied blockade will hammer sense into hishead; but that will take some time I am thinking, and in the meantimewhat is to become of poor Serbia?"

They saw what became of Serbia, and during the process Susan was hardlyto be lived with. In her exasperation she abused everything andeverybody except Kitchener, and she fell upon poor President Wilsontooth and claw. 

"If he had done his duty and gone into the war long ago we should nothave seen this mess in Serbia, " she avowed. 

"It would be a serious thing to plunge a great country like the UnitedStates, with its mixed population, into the war, Susan, " said thedoctor, who sometimes came to the defence of the President, not becausehe thought Wilson needed it especially, but from an unholy love ofbaiting Susan. 

"Maybe, doctor dear--maybe! But that makes me think of the old story ofthe girl who told her grandmother she was going to be married. 'It is asolemn thing to be married, ' said the old lady. 'Yes, but it is asolemner thing not to be, ' said the girl. And I can testify to that outof my own experience, doctor dear. And I think it is a solemner thingfor the Yankees that they have kept out of the war than it would havebeen if they had gone into it. However, though I do not know much aboutthem, I am of the opinion that we will see them starting something yet, Woodrow Wilson or no Woodrow Wilson, when they get it into their headsthat this war is not a correspondence school. They will not, " saidSusan, energetically waving a saucepan with one hand and a soup ladlewith the other, "be too proud to fight then. "

On a pale-yellow, windy evening in October Carl Meredith went away. Hehad enlisted on his eighteenth birthday. John Meredith saw him off witha set face. His two boys were gone--there was only little Bruce leftnow. He loved Bruce and Bruce's mother dearly; but Jerry and Carl werethe sons of the bride of his youth and Carl was the only one of all hischildren who had Cecilia's very eyes. As they looked lovingly out athim above Carl's uniform the pale minister suddenly remembered the daywhen for the first and last time he had tried to whip Carl for hisprank with the eel. That was the first time he had realised how muchCarl's eyes were like Cecilia's. Now he realised it again once more. Would he ever again see his dead wife's eyes looking at him from hisson's face? What a bonny, clean, handsome lad he was! It was--hard--tosee him go. John Meredith seemed to be looking at a torn plain strewedwith the bodies of "able-bodied men between the ages of eighteen andforty-five. " Only the other day Carl had been a little scrap of a boy, hunting bugs in Rainbow Valley, taking lizards to bed with him, andscandalizing the Glen by carrying frogs to Sunday School. It seemedhardly--right--somehow that he should be an "able-bodied man" in khaki. Yet John Meredith had said no word to dissuade him when Carl had toldhim he must go. 

Rilla felt Carl's going keenly. They had always been cronies andplaymates. He was only a little older than she was and they had beenchildren in Rainbow Valley together. She recalled all their old pranksand escapades as she walked slowly home alone. The full moon peepedthrough the scudding clouds with sudden floods of weird illumination, the telephone wires sang a shrill weird song in the wind, and the tallspikes of withered, grey-headed golden-rod in the fence corners swayedand beckoned wildly to her like groups of old witches weaving unholyspells. On such a night as this, long ago, Carl would come over toIngleside and whistle her out to the gate. "Let's go on a moon-spree, Rilla, " he would say, and the two of them would scamper off to RainbowValley. Rilla had never been afraid of his beetles and bugs, though shedrew a hard and fast line at snakes. They used to talk together ofalmost everything and were teased about each other at school; but oneevening when they were about ten years of age they had solemnlypromised, by the old spring in Rainbow Valley, that they would nevermarry each other. Alice Clow had "crossed out" their names on her slatein school that day, and it came out that "both married. " They did notlike the idea at all, hence the mutual vow in Rainbow Valley. There wasnothing like an ounce of prevention. Rilla laughed over the oldmemory--and then sighed. That very day a dispatch from some Londonpaper had contained the cheerful announcement that "the present momentis the darkest since the war began. " It was dark enough, and Rillawished desperately that she could do something besides waiting andserving at home, as day after day the Glen boys she had known wentaway. If she were only a boy, speeding in khaki by Carl's side to theWestern front! She had wished that in a burst of romance when Jem hadgone, without, perhaps, really meaning it. She meant it now. There weremoments when waiting at home, in safety and comfort, seemed anunendurable thing. 

The moon burst triumphantly through an especially dark cloud and shadowand silver chased each other in waves over the Glen. Rilla rememberedone moonlit evening of childhood when she had said to her mother, "Themoon just looks like a sorry, sorry face. " She thought it looked likethat still--an agonised, care-worn face, as though it looked down ondreadful sights. What did it see on the Western front? In brokenSerbia? On shell-swept Gallipoli?

"I am tired, " Miss Oliver had said that day, in a rare outburst ofimpatience, "of this horrible rack of strained emotions, when every daybrings a new horror or the dread of it. No, don't look reproachfully atme, Mrs. Blythe. There's nothing heroic about me today. I've slumped. Iwish England had left Belgium to her fate--I wish Canada had never senta man--I wish we'd tied our boys to our apron strings and not let oneof them go. Oh--I shall be ashamed of myself in half an hour--but atthis very minute I mean every word of it. Will the Allies never strike?"

"Patience is a tired mare but she jogs on, " said Susan. 

"While the steeds of Armageddon thunder, trampling over our hearts, "retorted Miss Oliver. "Susan, tell me--don't you ever--didn't youever--take spells of feeling that you must scream--or swear--or smashsomething--just because your torture reaches a point when it becomesunbearable?"

"I have never sworn or desired to swear, Miss Oliver dear, but I willadmit, " said Susan, with the air of one determined to make a cleanbreast of it once and for all, "that I have experienced occasions whenit was a relief to do considerable banging. "

"Don't you think that is a kind of swearing, Susan? What is thedifference between slamming a door viciously and saying d----"

"Miss Oliver dear, " interrupted Susan, desperately determined to saveGertrude from herself, if human power could do it, "you are all tiredout and unstrung--and no wonder, teaching those obstreperous youngstersall day and coming home to bad war news. But just you go upstairs andlie down and I will bring you up a cup of hot tea and a bite of toastand very soon you will not want to slam doors or swear. "

"Susan, you're a good soul--a very pearl of Susans! But, Susan, itwould be such a relief--to say just one soft, low, little tiny d---"

"I will bring you a hot-water bottle for the soles of your feet, also, "interposed Susan resolutely, "and it would not be any relief to saythat word you are thinking of, Miss Oliver, and that you may tie to. "

"Well, I'll try the hot-water bottle first, " said Miss Oliver, repenting herself on teasing Susan and vanishing upstairs, to Susan'sintense relief. Susan shook her head ominously as she filled thehot-water bottle. The war was certainly relaxing the standards ofbehaviour woefully. Here was Miss Oliver admittedly on the point ofprofanity. 

"We must draw the blood from her brain, " said Susan, "and if thisbottle is not effective I will see what can be done with a mustardplaster. "

Gertrude rallied and carried on. Lord Kitchener went to Greece, whereatSusan foretold that Constantine would soon experience a change ofheart. Lloyd George began to heckle the Allies regarding equipment andguns and Susan said you would hear more of Lloyd George yet. Thegallant Anzacs withdrew from Gallipoli and Susan approved the step, with reservations. The siege of Kut-El-Amara began and Susan pored overmaps of Mesopotamia and abused the Turks. Henry Ford started for Europeand Susan flayed him with sarcasm. Sir John French was superseded bySir Douglas Haig and Susan dubiously opined that it was poor policy toswap horses crossing a stream, "though, to be sure, Haig was a goodname and French had a foreign sound, say what you might. " Not a move onthe great chess-board of king or bishop or pawn escaped Susan, who hadonce read only Glen St. Mary notes. "There was a time, " she saidsorrowfully, "when I did not care what happened outside of P. E. Island, and now a king cannot have a toothache in Russia or China but itworries me. It may be broadening to the mind, as the doctor said, butit is very painful to the feelings. "

When Christmas came again Susan did not set any vacant places at thefestive board. Two empty chairs were too much even for Susan who hadthought in September that there would not be one. 

"This is the first Christmas that Walter was not home, " Rilla wrote inher diary that night. "Jem used to be away for Christmases up inAvonlea, but Walter never was. I had letters from Ken and him today. They are still in England but expect to be in the trenches very soon. And then--but I suppose we'll be able to endure it somehow. To me, thestrangest of all the strange things since 1914 is how we have alllearned to accept things we never thought we could--to go on with lifeas a matter of course. I know that Jem and Jerry are in thetrenches--that Ken and Walter will be soon--that if one of them doesnot come back my heart will break--yet I go on and work and plan--yes, and even enjoy life by times. There are moments when we have real funbecause, just for the moment, we don't think about things and then--weremember--and the remembering is worse than thinking of it all the timewould have been. 

"Today was dark and cloudy and tonight is wild enough, as Gertrudesays, to please any novelist in search of suitable matter for a murderor elopement. The raindrops streaming over the panes look like tearsrunning down a face, and the wind is shrieking through the maple grove. 

"This hasn't been a nice Christmas Day in any way. Nan had toothacheand Susan had red eyes, and assumed a weird and gruesome flippancy ofmanner to deceive us into thinking she hadn't; and Jims had a bad coldall day and I'm afraid of croup. He has had croup twice since October. The first time I was nearly frightened to death, for father and motherwere both away--father always is away, it seems to me, when any of thishousehold gets sick. But Susan was cool as a fish and knew just what todo, and by morning Jims was all right. That child is a cross between aduck and an imp. He's a year and four months old, trots abouteverywhere, and says quite a few words. He has the cutest little way ofcalling me "Willa-will. " It always brings back that dreadful, ridiculous, delightful night when Ken came to say good-bye, and I wasso furious and happy. Jims is pink and white and big-eyed andcurly-haired and every now and then I discover a new dimple in him. Ican never quite believe he is really the same creature as that scrawny, yellow, ugly little changeling I brought home in the soup tureen. Nobody has ever heard a word from Jim Anderson. If he never comes backI shall keep Jims always. Everybody here worships and spoils him--orwould spoil him if Morgan and I didn't stand remorselessly in the way. Susan says Jims is the cleverest child she ever saw and can recognizeOld Nick when he sees him--this because Jims threw poor Doc out of anupstairs window one day. Doc turned into Mr. Hyde on his way down andlanded in a currant bush, spitting and swearing. I tried to console hisinner cat with a saucer of milk but he would have none of it, andremained Mr. Hyde the rest of the day. Jims's latest exploit was topaint the cushion of the big arm-chair in the sun parlour withmolasses; and before anybody found it out Mrs. Fred Clow came in on RedCross business and sat down on it. Her new silk dress was ruined andnobody could blame her for being vexed. But she went into one of hertempers and said nasty things and gave me such slams about 'spoiling'Jims that I nearly boiled over, too. But I kept the lid on till she hadwaddled away and then I exploded. 

"'The fat, clumsy, horrid old thing, ' I said--and oh, what asatisfaction it was to say it. 

"'She has three sons at the front, ' mother said rebukingly. 

"'I suppose that covers all her shortcomings in manners, ' I retorted. But I was ashamed--for it is true that all her boys have gone and shewas very plucky and loyal about it too; and she is a perfect tower ofstrength in the Red Cross. It's a little hard to remember all theheroines. Just the same, it was her second new silk dress in one yearand that when everybody is--or should be--trying to 'save and serve. '

"I had to bring out my green velvet hat again lately and begin wearingit. I hung on to my blue straw sailor as long as I could. How I hatethe green velvet hat! It is so elaborate and conspicuous. I don't seehow I could ever have liked it. But I vowed to wear it and wear it Iwill. 

"Shirley and I went down to the station this morning to take Little DogMonday a bang-up Christmas dinner. Dog Monday waits and watches therestill, with just as much hope and confidence as ever. Sometimes hehangs around the station house and talks to people and the rest of histime he sits at his little kennel door and watches the trackunwinkingly. We never try to coax him home now: we know it is of nouse. When Jem comes back, Monday will come home with him; and ifJem--never comes back--Monday will wait there for him as long as hisdear dog heart goes on beating. 

"Fred Arnold was here last night. He was eighteen in November and isgoing to enlist just as soon as his mother is over an operation she hasto have. He has been coming here very often lately and though I likehim so much it makes me uncomfortable, because I am afraid he isthinking that perhaps I could care something for him. I can't tell himabout Ken--because, after all, what is there to tell? And yet I don'tlike to behave coldly and distantly when he will be going away so soon. It is very perplexing. I remember I used to think it would be such funto have dozens of beaux--and now I'm worried to death because two aretoo many. 

"I am learning to cook. Susan is teaching me. I tried to learn longago--but no, let me be honest--Susan tried to teach me, which is a verydifferent thing. I never seemed to succeed with anything and I gotdiscouraged. But since the boys have gone away I wanted to be able tomake cake and things for them myself and so I started in again and thistime I'm getting on surprisingly well. Susan says it is all in the wayI hold my mouth and father says my subconscious mind is desirous oflearning now, and I dare say they're both right. Anyhow, I can makedandy short-bread and fruitcake. I got ambitious last week andattempted cream puffs, but made an awful failure of them. They came outof the oven flat as flukes. I thought maybe the cream would fill themup again and make them plump but it didn't. I think Susan was secretlypleased. She is past mistress in the art of making cream puffs and itwould break her heart if anyone else here could make them as well. Iwonder if Susan tampered--but no, I won't suspect her of such a thing. 

"Miranda Pryor spent an afternoon here a few days ago, helping me cutout certain Red Cross garments known by the charming name of 'verminshirts. ' Susan thinks that name is not quite decent, so I suggested shecall them 'cootie sarks, ' which is old Highland Sandy's version of it. But she shook her head and I heard her telling mother later that, inher opinion, 'cooties' and 'sarks' were not proper subjects for younggirls to talk about. She was especially horrified when Jem wrote in hislast letter to mother, 'Tell Susan I had a fine cootie hunt thismorning and caught fifty-three!' Susan positively turned pea-green. 'Mrs. Dr. Dear, ' she said, 'when I was young, if decent people were sounfortunate as to get--those insects--they kept it a secret ifpossible. I do not want to be narrow-minded, Mrs. Dr. Dear, but I stillthink it is better not to mention such things. '

"Miranda grew confidential over our vermin shirts and told me all hertroubles. She is desperately unhappy. She is engaged to Joe Milgraveand Joe joined up in October and has been training in Charlottetownever since. Her father was furious when he joined and forbade Mirandaever to have any dealing or communication with him again. Poor Joeexpects to go overseas any day and wants Miranda to marry him before hegoes, which shows that there have been 'communications' in spite ofWhiskers-on-the-moon. Miranda wants to marry him but cannot, and shedeclares it will break her heart. 

"'Why don't you run away and marry him?' I said. It didn't go againstmy conscience in the least to give her such advice. Joe Milgrave is asplendid fellow and Mr. Pryor fairly beamed on him until the war brokeout and I know Mr. Pryor would forgive Miranda very quickly, once itwas over and he wanted his housekeeper back. But Miranda shook hersilvery head dolefully. 

"'Joe wants me to but I can't. Mother's last words to me, as she lay onher dying-bed, were, "Never, never run away, Miranda, " and I promised. '

"Miranda's mother died two years ago, and it seems, according toMiranda, that her mother and father actually ran away to be marriedthemselves. To picture Whiskers-on-the-moon as the hero of an elopementis beyond my power. But such was the case and Mrs. Pryor at least livedto repent it. She had a hard life of it with Mr. Pryor, and she thoughtit was a punishment on her for running away. So she made Mirandapromise she would never, for any reason whatever, do it. 

"Of course, you cannot urge a girl to break a promise made to a dyingmother, so I did not see what Miranda could do unless she got Joe tocome to the house when her father was away and marry her there. ButMiranda said that couldn't be managed. Her father seemed to suspect shemight be up to something of the sort and he never went away for long ata time, and, of course, Joe couldn't get leave of absence at an hour'snotice. 

"'No, I shall just have to let Joe go, and he will be killed--I know hewill be killed--and my heart will break, ' said Miranda, her tearsrunning down and copiously bedewing the vermin shirts!

"I am not writing like this for lack of any real sympathy with poorMiranda. I've just got into the habit of giving things a comical twistif I can, when I'm writing to Jem and Walter and Ken, to make themlaugh. I really felt sorry for Miranda who is as much in love with Joeas a china-blue girl can be with anyone and who is dreadfully ashamedof her father's pro-German sentiments. I think she understood that Idid, for she said she had wanted to tell me all about her worriesbecause I had grown so sympathetic this past year. I wonder if I have. I know I used to be a selfish, thoughtless creature--how selfish andthoughtless I am ashamed to remember now, so I can't be quite so bad asI was. 

"I wish I could help Miranda. It would be very romantic to contrive awar-wedding and I should dearly love to get the better ofWhiskers-on-the-moon. But at present the oracle has not spoken. "

CHAPTER XVIII

A WAR-WEDDING

"I can tell you this Dr. Dear, " said Susan, pale with wrath, "thatGermany is getting to be perfectly ridiculous. "

They were all in the big Ingleside kitchen. Susan was mixing biscuitsfor supper. Mrs. Blythe was making shortbread for Jem, and Rilla wascompounding candy for Ken and Walter--it had once been "Walter and Ken"in her thoughts but somehow, quite unconsciously, this had changeduntil Ken's name came naturally first. Cousin Sophia was also there, knitting. All the boys were going to be killed in the long run, soCousin Sophia felt in her bones, but they might better die with warmfeet than cold ones, so Cousin Sophia knitted faithfully and gloomily. 

Into this peaceful scene erupted the doctor, wrathful and excited overthe burning of the Parliament Buildings in Ottawa. And Susan becameautomatically quite as wrathful and excited. 

"What will those Huns do next?" she demanded. "Coming over here andburning our Parliament building! Did anyone ever hear of such anoutrage?"

"We don't know that the Germans are responsible for this, " said thedoctor--much as if he felt quite sure they were. "Fires do startwithout their agency sometimes. And Uncle Mark MacAllister's barn wasburnt last week. You can hardly accuse the Germans of that, Susan. "

"Indeed, Dr. Dear, I do not know. " Susan nodded slowly andportentously. "Whiskers-on-the-moon was there that very day. The firebroke out half an hour after he was gone. So much is a fact--but Ishall not accuse a Presbyterian elder of burning anybody's barn until Ihave proof. However, everybody knows, Dr. Dear, that both Uncle Mark'sboys have enlisted, and that Uncle Mark himself makes speeches at allthe recruiting meetings. So no doubt Germany is anxious to get squarewith him. "

"I could never speak at a recruiting meeting, " said Cousin Sophiasolemnly. "I could never reconcile it to my conscience to ask anotherwoman's son to go, to murder and be murdered. "

"Could you not?" said Susan. "Well, Sophia Crawford, I felt as if Icould ask anyone to go when I read last night that there were nochildren under eight years of age left alive in Poland. Think of that, Sophia Crawford"--Susan shook a floury finger atSophia--"not--one--child--under--eight--years--of--age!"

"I suppose the Germans has et 'em all, " sighed Cousin Sophia. 

"Well, no-o-o, " said Susan reluctantly, as if she hated to admit thatthere was any crime the Huns couldn't be accused of. "The Germans havenot turned cannibal yet--as far as I know. They have died of starvationand exposure, the poor little creatures. There is murdering for you, Cousin Sophia Crawford. The thought of it poisons every bite and sup Itake. "

"I see that Fred Carson of Lowbridge has been awarded a DistinguishedConduct Medal, " remarked the doctor, over his local paper. 

"I heard that last week, " said Susan. "He is a battalion runner and hedid something extra brave and daring. His letter, telling his folksabout it, came when his old Grandmother Carson was on her dying-bed. She had only a few minutes more to live and the Episcopal minister, whowas there, asked her if she would not like him to pray. 'Oh yes, yes, you can pray, ' she said impatient-like--she was a Dean, Dr. Dear, andthe Deans were always high-spirited--'you can pray, but for pity's sakepray low and don't disturb me. I want to think over this splendid newsand I have not much time left to do it. ' That was Almira Carson allover. Fred was the apple of her eye. She was seventy-five years of ageand had not a grey hair in her head, they tell me. "

"By the way, that reminds me--I found a grey hair this morning--my veryfirst, " said Mrs. Blythe. 

"I have noticed that grey hair for some time, Mrs. Dr. Dear, but I didnot speak of it. Thought I to myself, 'She has enough to bear. ' But nowthat you have discovered it let me remind you that grey hairs arehonourable. "

"I must be getting old, Gilbert. " Mrs. Blythe laughed a trifleruefully. "People are beginning to tell me I look so young. They nevertell you that when you are young. But I shall not worry over my silverthread. I never liked red hair. Gilbert, did I ever tell you of thattime, years ago at Green Gables, when I dyed my hair? Nobody butMarilla and I knew about it. "

"Was that the reason you came out once with your hair shingled to thebone?"

"Yes. I bought a bottle of dye from a German Jew pedlar. I fondlyexpected it would turn my hair black--and it turned it green. So it hadto be cut off. "

"You had a narrow escape, Mrs. Dr. Dear, " exclaimed Susan. "Of courseyou were too young then to know what a German was. It was a specialmercy of Providence that it was only green dye and not poison. "

"It seems hundreds of years since those Green Gables days, " sighed Mrs. Blythe. "They belonged to another world altogether. Life has been cutin two by the chasm of war. What is ahead I don't know--but it can't bea bit like the past. I wonder if those of us who have lived half ourlives in the old world will ever feel wholly at home in the new. "

"Have you noticed, " asked Miss Oliver, glancing up from her book, "howeverything written before the war seems so far away now, too? One feelsas if one was reading something as ancient as the Iliad. This poem ofWordsworth's--the Senior class have it in their entrance work--I'vebeen glancing over it. Its classic calm and repose and the beauty ofthe lines seem to belong to another planet, and to have as little to dowith the present world-welter as the evening star. "

"The only thing that I find much comfort in reading nowadays is theBible, " remarked Susan, whisking her biscuits into the oven. "There areso many passages in it that seem to me exactly descriptive of the Huns. Old Highland Sandy declares that there is no doubt that the Kaiser isthe Anti-Christ spoken of in Revelations, but I do not go as far asthat. It would, in my humble opinion, Mrs. Dr. Dear, be too great anhonour for him. "

Early one morning, several days later, Miranda Pryor slipped up toIngleside, ostensibly to get some Red Cross sewing, but in reality totalk over with sympathetic Rilla troubles that were past bearing alone. She brought her dog with her--an over-fed, bandy-legged little animalvery dear to her heart because Joe Milgrave had given it to her when itwas a puppy. Mr. Pryor regarded all dogs with disfavour; but in thosedays he had looked kindly upon Joe as a suitor for Miranda's hand andso he had allowed her to keep the puppy. Miranda was so grateful thatshe endeavoured to please her father by naming her dog after hispolitical idol, the great Liberal chieftain, Sir WilfridLaurier--though his title was soon abbreviated to Wilfy. Sir Wilfridgrew and flourished and waxed fat; but Miranda spoiled him absurdly andnobody else liked him. Rilla especially hated him because of hisdetestable trick of lying flat on his back and entreating you withwaving paws to tickle his sleek stomach. When she saw that Miranda'spale eyes bore unmistakable testimony of her having cried all night, Rilla asked her to come up to her room, knowing Miranda had a tale ofwoe to tell, but she ordered Sir Wilfrid to remain below. 

"Oh, can't he come, too?" said Miranda wistfully. "Poor Wilfy won't beany bother--and I wiped his paws so carefully before I brought him in. He is always so lonesome in a strange place without me--and very soonhe'll be--all--I'll have left--to remind me--of Joe. "

Rilla yielded, and Sir Wilfrid, with his tail curled at a saucy angleover his brindled back, trotted triumphantly up the stairs before them. 

"Oh, Rilla, " sobbed Miranda, when they had reached sanctuary. "I'm sounhappy. I can't begin to tell you how unhappy I am. Truly, my heart isbreaking. "

Rilla sat down on the lounge beside her. Sir Wilfrid squatted on hishaunches before them, with his impertinent pink tongue stuck out, andlistened. "What is the trouble, Miranda?"

"Joe is coming home tonight on his last leave. I had a letter from himon Saturday--he sends my letters in care of Bob Crawford, you know, because of father--and, oh, Rilla, he will only have four days--he hasto go away Friday morning--and I may never see him again. "

"Does he still want you to marry him?" asked Rilla. 

"Oh, yes. He implored me in his letter to run away and be married. ButI cannot do that, Rilla, not even for Joe. My only comfort is that Iwill be able to see him for a little while tomorrow afternoon. Fatherhas to go to Charlottetown on business. At least we will have one goodfarewell talk. But oh--afterwards--why, Rilla, I know father won't evenlet me go to the station Friday morning to see Joe off. "

"Why in the world don't you and Joe get married tomorrow afternoon athome?" demanded Rilla. 

Miranda swallowed a sob in such amazement that she almost choked. 

"Why--why--that is impossible, Rilla. "

"Why?" briefly demanded the organizer of the Junior Red Cross and thetransporter of babies in soup tureens. 

"Why--why--we never thought of such a thing--Joe hasn't a license--Ihave no dress--I couldn't be married in black--I--I--we--you--you--"Miranda lost herself altogether and Sir Wilfrid, seeing that she was indire distress threw back his head and emitted a melancholy yelp. 

Rilla Blythe thought hard and rapidly for a few minutes. Then she said, "Miranda, if you will put yourself into my hands I'll have you marriedto Joe before four o'clock tomorrow afternoon. "

"Oh, you couldn't. "

"I can and I will. But you'll have to do exactly as I tell you. "

"Oh--I--don't think--oh, father will kill me--"

"Nonsense. He'll be very angry I suppose. But are you more afraid ofyour father's anger than you are of Joe's never coming back to you?"

"No, " said Miranda, with sudden firmness, "I'm not. "

"Will you do as I tell you then?"

"Yes, I will. "

"Then get Joe on the long-distance at once and tell him to bring out alicense and ring tonight. "

"Oh, I couldn't, " wailed the aghast Miranda, "it--it would be so--soindelicate. "

Rilla shut her little white teeth together with a snap. "Heaven grantme patience, " she said under her breath. "I'll do it then, " she saidaloud, "and meanwhile, you go home and make what preparations you can. When I 'phone down to you to come up and help me sew come at once. "

As soon as Miranda, pallid, scared, but desperately resolved, had gone, Rilla flew to the telephone and put in a long-distance call forCharlottetown. She got through with such surprising quickness that shewas convinced Providence approved of her undertaking, but it was a goodhour before she could get in touch with Joe Milgrave at his camp. Meanwhile, she paced impatiently about, and prayed that when she didget Joe there would be no listeners on the line to carry news toWhiskers-on-the-moon. 

"Is that you, Joe? Rilla Blythe is speaking--Rilla--Rilla--oh, nevermind. Listen to this. Before you come home tonight get a marriagelicense--a marriage license--yes, a marriage license--and awedding-ring. Did you get that? And will you do it? Very well, be sureyou do it--it is your only chance. "

Flushed with triumph--for her only fear was that she might not be ableto locate Joe in time--Rilla rang the Pryor ring. This time she had notsuch good luck for she drew Whiskers-on-the-moon. 

"Is that Miranda? Oh--Mr. Pryor! Well, Mr. Pryor, will you kindly askMiranda if she can come up this afternoon and help me with some sewing. It is very important, or I would not trouble her. Oh--thank you. "

Mr. Pryor had consented somewhat grumpily, but he had consented--he didnot want to offend Dr. Blythe, and he knew that if he refused to allowMiranda to do any Red Cross work public opinion would make the Glen toohot for comfort. Rilla went out to the kitchen, shut all the doors witha mysterious expression which alarmed Susan, and then said solemnly, "Susan can you make a wedding-cake this afternoon?"

"A wedding-cake!" Susan stared. Rilla had, without any warning, broughther a war-baby once upon a time. Was she now, with equal suddenness, going to produce a husband?

"Yes, a wedding-cake--a scrumptious wedding-cake, Susan--a beautiful, plummy, eggy, citron-peely wedding-cake. And we must make other thingstoo. I'll help you in the morning. But I can't help you in theafternoon for I have to make a wedding-dress and time is the essence ofthe contract, Susan. "

Susan felt that she was really too old to be subjected to such shocks. 

"Who are you going to marry, Rilla?" she asked feebly. 

"Susan, darling, I am not the happy bride. Miranda Pryor is going tomarry Joe Milgrave tomorrow afternoon while her father is away in town. A war-wedding, Susan--isn't that thrilling and romantic? I never was soexcited in my life. "

The excitement soon spread over Ingleside, infecting even Mrs. Blytheand Susan. 

"I'll go to work on that cake at once, " vowed Susan, with a glance atthe clock. "Mrs. Dr. Dear, will you pick over the fruit and beat up theeggs? If you will I can have that cake ready for the oven by theevening. Tomorrow morning we can make salads and other things. I willwork all night if necessary to get the better of Whiskers-on-the-moon. "

Miranda arrived, tearful and breathless. 

"We must fix over my white dress for you to wear, " said Rilla. "It willfit you very nicely with a little alteration. "

To work went the two girls, ripping, fitting, basting, sewing for dearlife. By dint of unceasing effort they got the dress done by seveno'clock and Miranda tried it on in Rilla's room. 

"It's very pretty--but oh, if I could just have a veil, " sighedMiranda. "I've always dreamed of being married in a lovely white veil. "

Some good fairy evidently waits on the wishes of war-brides. The dooropened and Mrs. Blythe came in, her arms full of a filmy burden. 

"Miranda dear, " she said, "I want you to wear my wedding-veil tomorrow. It is twenty-four years since I was a bride at old Green Gables--thehappiest bride that ever was--and the wedding-veil of a happy bridebrings good luck, they say. "

"Oh, how sweet of you, Mrs. Blythe, " said Miranda, the ready tearsstarting to her eyes. 

The veil was tried on and draped. Susan dropped in to approve but darednot linger. 

"I've got that cake in the oven, " she said, "and I am pursuing a policyof watchful waiting. The evening news is that the Grand Duke hascaptured Erzerum. That is a pill for the Turks. I wish I had a chanceto tell the Czar just what a mistake he made when he turned Nicholasdown. "

Susan disappeared downstairs to the kitchen, whence a dreadful thud anda piercing shriek presently sounded. Everybody rushed to thekitchen--the doctor and Miss Oliver, Mrs. Blythe, Rilla, Miranda in herwedding-veil. Susan was sitting flatly in the middle of the kitchenfloor with a dazed, bewildered look on her face, while Doc, evidentlyin his Hyde incarnation, was standing on the dresser, with his back up, his eyes blazing, and his tail the size of three tails. 

"Susan, what has happened?" cried Mrs. Blythe in alarm. "Did you fall?Are you hurt?"

Susan picked herself up. 

"No, " she said grimly, "I am not hurt, though I am jarred all over. Donot be alarmed. As for what has happened--I tried to kick that darnedcat with both feet, that is what happened. "

Everybody shrieked with laughter. The doctor was quite helpless. 

"Oh, Susan, Susan, " he gasped. "That I should live to hear you swear. "

"I am sorry, " said Susan in real distress, "that I used such anexpression before two young girls. But I said that beast was darned, and darned it is. It belongs to Old Nick. "

"Do you expect it will vanish some of these days with a bang and theodour of brimstone, Susan?"

"It will go to its own place in due time and that you may tie to, " saidSusan dourly, shaking out her raddled bones and going to her oven. "Isuppose my plunking down like that has shaken my cake so that it willbe as heavy as lead. "

But the cake was not heavy. It was all a bride's cake should be, andSusan iced it beautifully. Next day she and Rilla worked all theforenoon, making delicacies for the wedding-feast, and as soon asMiranda phoned up that her father was safely off everything was packedin a big hamper and taken down to the Pryor house. Joe soon arrived inhis uniform and a state of violent excitement, accompanied by his bestman, Sergeant Malcolm Crawford. There were quite a few guests, for allthe Manse and Ingleside folk were there, and a dozen or so of Joe'srelatives, including his mother, "Mrs. Dead Angus Milgrave, " so called, cheerfully, to distinguish her from another lady whose Angus wasliving. Mrs. Dead Angus wore a rather disapproving expression, notcaring over-much for this alliance with the house ofWhiskers-on-the-moon. 

So Miranda Pryor was married to Private Joseph Milgrave on his lastleave. It should have been a romantic wedding but it was not. Therewere too many factors working against romance, as even Rilla had toadmit. In the first place, Miranda, in spite of her dress and veil, wassuch a flat-faced, commonplace, uninteresting little bride. In thesecond place, Joe cried bitterly all through the ceremony, and thisvexed Miranda unreasonably. Long afterwards she told Rilla, "I justfelt like saying to him then and there, 'If you feel so bad over havingto marry me you don't have to. ' But it was just because he was thinkingall the time of how soon he would have to leave me. "

In the third place, Jims, who was usually so well-behaved in public, took a fit of shyness and contrariness combined and began to cry at thetop of his voice for "Willa. " Nobody wanted to take him out, becauseeverybody wanted to see the marriage, so Rilla who was a bridesmaid, had to take him and hold him during the ceremony. 

In the fourth place, Sir Wilfrid Laurier took a fit. 

Sir Wilfrid was entrenched in a corner of the room behind Miranda'spiano. During his seizure he made the weirdest, most unearthly noises. He would begin with a series of choking, spasmodic sounds, continuinginto a gruesome gurgle, and ending up with a strangled howl. Nobodycould hear a word Mr. Meredith was saying, except now and then, whenSir Wilfrid stopped for breath. Nobody looked at the bride exceptSusan, who never dragged her fascinated eyes from Miranda's face--allthe others were gazing at the dog. Miranda had been trembling withnervousness but as soon as Sir Wilfrid began his performance she forgotit. All that she could think of was that her dear dog was dying and shecould not go to him. She never remembered a word of the ceremony. 

Rilla, who in spite of Jims, had been trying her best to look rapt andromantic, as beseemed a war bridesmaid, gave up the hopeless attempt, and devoted her energies to choking down untimely merriment. She darednot look at anybody in the room, especially Mrs. Dead Angus, for fearall her suppressed mirth should suddenly explode in a mostun-young-ladylike yell of laughter. 

But married they were, and then they had a wedding-supper in thedining-room which was so lavish and bountiful that you would havethought it was the product of a month's labour. Everybody had broughtsomething. Mrs. Dead Angus had brought a large apple-pie, which sheplaced on a chair in the dining-room and then absently sat down on it. Neither her temper nor her black silk wedding garment was improvedthereby, but the pie was never missed at the gay bridal feast. Mrs. Dead Angus eventually took it home with her again. Whiskers-on-the-moon's pacifist pig should not get it, anyhow. 

That evening Mr. And Mrs. Joe, accompanied by the recovered SirWilfrid, departed for the Four Winds Lighthouse, which was kept byJoe's uncle and in which they meant to spend their brief honeymoon. UnaMeredith and Rilla and Susan washed the dishes, tidied up, left a coldsupper and Miranda's pitiful little note on the table for Mr. Pryor, and walked home, while the mystic veil of dreamy, haunted wintertwilight wrapped itself over the Glen. 

"I would really not have minded being a war-bride myself, " remarkedSusan sentimentally. 

But Rilla felt rather flat--perhaps as a reaction to all the excitementand rush of the past thirty-six hours. She was disappointedsomehow--the whole affair had been so ludicrous, and Miranda and Joe solachrymose and commonplace. 

"If Miranda hadn't given that wretched dog such an enormous dinner hewouldn't have had that fit, " she said crossly. "I warned her--but shesaid she couldn't starve the poor dog--he would soon be all she hadleft, etc. I could have shaken her. "

"The best man was more excited than Joe was, " said Susan. "He wishedMiranda many happy returns of the day. She did not look very happy, butperhaps you could not expect that under the circumstances. "

"Anyhow, " thought Rilla, "I can write a perfectly killing account of itall to the boys. How Jem will howl over Sir Wilfrid's part in it!"

But if Rilla was rather disappointed in the war wedding she foundnothing lacking on Friday morning when Miranda said good-bye to herbridegroom at the Glen station. The dawn was white as a pearl, clear asa diamond. Behind the station the balsamy copse of young firs wasfrost-misted. The cold moon of dawn hung over the westering snow fieldsbut the golden fleeces of sunrise shone above the maples up atIngleside. Joe took his pale little bride in his arms and she liftedher face to his. Rilla choked suddenly. It did not matter that Mirandawas insignificant and commonplace and flat-featured. It did not matterthat she was the daughter of Whiskers-on-the-moon. All that matteredwas that rapt, sacrificial look in her eyes--that ever-burning, sacredfire of devotion and loyalty and fine courage that she was mutelypromising Joe she and thousands of other women would keep alive at homewhile their men held the Western front. Rilla walked away, realisingthat she must not spy on such a moment. She went down to the end of theplatform where Sir Wilfrid and Dog Monday were sitting, looking at eachother. 

Sir Wilfrid remarked condescendingly: "Why do you haunt this old shedwhen you might lie on the hearthrug at Ingleside and live on the fat ofthe land? Is it a pose? Or a fixed idea?"

Whereat Dog Monday, laconically: "I have a tryst to keep. "

When the train had gone Rilla rejoined the little trembling Miranda. "Well, he's gone, " said Miranda, "and he may never come back--but I'mhis wife, and I'm going to be worthy of him. I'm going home. "

"Don't you think you had better come with me now?" asked Rilladoubtfully. Nobody knew yet how Mr. Pryor had taken the matter. 

"No. If Joe can face the Huns I guess I can face father, " said Mirandadaringly. "A soldier's wife can't be a coward. Come on, Wilfy. I'll gostraight home and meet the worst. "

There was nothing very dreadful to face, however. Perhaps Mr. Pryor hadreflected that housekeepers were hard to get and that there were manyMilgrave homes open to Miranda--also, that there was such a thing as aseparation allowance. At all events, though he told her grumpily thatshe had made a nice fool of herself, and would live to regret it, hesaid nothing worse, and Mrs. Joe put on her apron and went to work asusual, while Sir Wilfrid Laurier, who had a poor opinion of lighthousesfor winter residences, went to sleep in his pet nook behind thewoodbox, a thankful dog that he was done with war-weddings. 

CHAPTER XIX

"THEY SHALL NOT PASS"

One cold grey morning in February Gertrude Oliver wakened with ashiver, slipped into Rilla's room, and crept in beside her. 

"Rilla--I'm frightened--frightened as a baby--I've had another of mystrange dreams. Something terrible is before us--I know. "

"What was it?" asked Rilla. 

"I was standing again on the veranda steps--just as I stood in thatdream on the night before the lighthouse dance, and in the sky a hugeblack, menacing thunder cloud rolled up from the east. I could see itsshadow racing before it and when it enveloped me I shivered with icycold. Then the storm broke--and it was a dreadful storm--blinding flashafter flash and deafening peal after peal, driving torrents of rain. Iturned in panic and tried to run for shelter, and as I did so a man--asoldier in the uniform of a French army officer--dashed up the stepsand stood beside me on the threshold of the door. His clothes weresoaked with blood from a wound in his breast, he seemed spent andexhausted; but his white face was set and his eyes blazed in his hollowface. 'They shall not pass, ' he said, in low, passionate tones which Iheard distinctly amid all the turmoil of the storm. Then I awakened. Rilla, I'm frightened--the spring will not bring the Big Push we've allbeen hoping for--instead it is going to bring some dreadful blow toFrance. I am sure of it. The Germans will try to smash throughsomewhere. "

"But he told you that they would not pass, " said Rilla, seriously. Shenever laughed at Gertrude's dreams as the doctor did. 

"I do not know if that was prophecy or desperation, Rilla, the horrorof that dream holds me yet in an icy grip. We shall need all ourcourage before long. "

Dr. Blythe did laugh at the breakfast table--but he never laughed atMiss Oliver's dreams again; for that day brought news of the opening ofthe Verdun offensive, and thereafter through all the beautiful weeks ofspring the Ingleside family, one and all, lived in a trance of dread. There were days when they waited in despair for the end as foot by footthe Germans crept nearer and nearer to the grim barrier of desperateFrance. 

Susan's deeds were in her spotless kitchen at Ingleside, but herthoughts were on the hills around Verdun. "Mrs. Dr. Dear, " she wouldstick her head in at Mrs. Blythe's door the last thing at night toremark, "I do hope the French have hung onto the Crow's Wood today, "and she woke at dawn to wonder if Dead Man's Hill--surely named by someprophet--was still held by the "poyloos. " Susan could have drawn a mapof the country around Verdun that would have satisfied a chief of staff. 

"If the Germans capture Verdun the spirit of France will be broken, "Miss Oliver said bitterly. 

"But they will not capture it, " staunchly said Susan, who could not eather dinner that day for fear lest they do that very thing. "In thefirst place, you dreamed they would not--you dreamed the very thing theFrench are saying before they ever said it--'they shall not pass. ' Ideclare to you, Miss Oliver, dear, when I read that in the paper, andremembered your dream, I went cold all over with awe. It seemed to melike Biblical times when people dreamed things like that quitefrequently. 

"I know--I know, " said Gertrude, walking restlessly about. "I cling toa persistent faith in my dream, too--but every time bad news comes itfails me. Then I tell myself 'mere coincidence'--'subconscious memory'and so forth. "

"I do not see how any memory could remember a thing before it was eversaid at all, " persisted Susan, "though of course I am not educated likeyou and the doctor. I would rather not be, if it makes anything assimple as that so hard to believe. But in any case we need not worryover Verdun, even if the Huns get it. Joffre says it has no militarysignificance. "

"That old sop of comfort has been served up too often already whenreverses came, " retorted Gertrude. "It has lost its power to charm. "

"Was there ever a battle like this in the world before?" said Mr. Meredith, one evening in mid-April. 

"It's such a titanic thing we can't grasp it, " said the doctor. "Whatwere the scraps of a few Homeric handfuls compared to this? The wholeTrojan war might be fought around a Verdun fort and a newspapercorrespondent would give it no more than a sentence. I am not in theconfidence of the occult powers"--the doctor threw Gertrude atwinkle--"but I have a hunch that the fate of the whole war hangs onthe issue of Verdun. As Susan and Joffre say, it has no real militarysignificance; but it has the tremendous significance of an Idea. IfGermany wins there she will win the war. If she loses, the tide willset against her. "

"Lose she will, " said Mr. Meredith: emphatically. "The Idea cannot beconquered. France is certainly very wonderful. It seems to me that inher I see the white form of civilization making a determined standagainst the black powers of barbarism. I think our whole world realizesthis and that is why we all await the issue so breathlessly. It isn'tmerely the question of a few forts changing hands or a few miles ofblood-soaked ground lost and won. "

"I wonder, " said Gertrude dreamily, "if some great blessing, greatenough for the price, will be the meed of all our pain? Is the agony inwhich the world is shuddering the birth-pang of some wondrous new era?Or is it merely a futile

 struggle of ants In the gleam of a million million of suns?

We think very lightly, Mr. Meredith, of a calamity which destroys anant-hill and half its inhabitants. Does the Power that runs theuniverse think us of more importance than we think ants?"

"You forget, " said Mr. Meredith, with a flash of his dark eyes, "thatan infinite Power must be infinitely little as well as infinitelygreat. We are neither, therefore there are things too little as well astoo great for us to apprehend. To the infinitely little an ant is of asmuch importance as a mastodon. We are witnessing the birth-pangs of anew era--but it will be born a feeble, wailing life like everythingelse. I am not one of those who expect a new heaven and a new earth asthe immediate result of this war. That is not the way God works. Butwork He does, Miss Oliver, and in the end His purpose will befulfilled. "

"Sound and orthodox--sound and orthodox, " muttered Susan approvingly inthe kitchen. Susan liked to see Miss Oliver sat upon by the ministernow and then. Susan was very fond of her but she thought Miss Oliverliked saying heretical things to ministers far too well, and deservedan occasional reminder that these matters were quite beyond herprovince. 

In May Walter wrote home that he had been awarded a D. C. Medal. He didnot say what for, but the other boys took care that the Glen shouldknow the brave thing Walter had done. "In any war but this, " wroteJerry Meredith, "it would have meant a V. C. But they can't make V. C. 'sas common as the brave things done every day here. "

"He should have had the V. C. , " said Susan, and was very indignant overit. She was not quite sure who was to blame for his not getting it, butif it were General Haig she began for the first time to entertainserious doubts as to his fitness for being Commander-in-Chief. 

Rilla was beside herself with delight. It was her dear Walter who haddone this thing--Walter, to whom someone had sent a white feather atRedmond--it was Walter who had dashed back from the safety of thetrench to drag in a wounded comrade who had fallen on No-man's-land. Oh, she could see his white beautiful face and wonderful eyes as he didit! What a thing to be the sister of such a hero! And he hadn't thoughtit worth while writing about. His letter was full of otherthings--little intimate things that they two had known and lovedtogether in the dear old cloudless days of a century ago. 

"I've been thinking of the daffodils in the garden at Ingleside, " hewrote. "By the time you get this they will be out, blowing there underthat lovely rosy sky. Are they really as bright and golden as ever, Rilla? It seems to me that they must be dyed red with blood--like ourpoppies here. And every whisper of spring will be falling as a violetin Rainbow Valley. 

"There is a young moon tonight--a slender, silver, lovely thing hangingover these pits of torment. Will you see it tonight over the maplegrove?

"I'm enclosing a little scrap of verse, Rilla. I wrote it one eveningin my trench dug-out by the light of a bit of candle--or rather it cameto me there--I didn't feel as if I were writing it--something seemed touse me as an instrument. I've had that feeling once or twice before, but very rarely and never so strongly as this time. That was why I sentit over to the London Spectator. It printed it and the copy came today. I hope you'll like it. It's the only poem I've written since I cameoverseas. "

The poem was a short, poignant little thing. In a month it had carriedWalter's name to every corner of the globe. Everywhere it wascopied--in metropolitan dailies and little village weeklies--inprofound reviews and "agony columns, " in Red Cross appeals andGovernment recruiting propaganda. Mothers and sisters wept over it, young lads thrilled to it, the whole great heart of humanity caught itup as an epitome of all the pain and hope and pity and purpose of themighty conflict, crystallized in three brief immortal verses. ACanadian lad in the Flanders trenches had written the one great poem ofthe war. "The Piper, " by Pte. Walter Blythe, was a classic from itsfirst printing. 

Rilla copied it in her diary at the beginning of an entry in which shepoured out the story of the hard week that had just passed. 

"It has been such a dreadful week, " she wrote, "and even though it isover and we know that it was all a mistake that does not seem to doaway with the bruises left by it. And yet it has in some ways been avery wonderful week and I have had some glimpses of things I neverrealized before--of how fine and brave people can be even in the midstof horrible suffering. I am sure I could never be as splendid as MissOliver was. 

"Just a week ago today she had a letter from Mr. Grant's mother inCharlottetown. And it told her that a cable had just come saying thatMajor Robert Grant had been killed in action a few days before. 

"Oh, poor Gertrude! At first she was crushed. Then after just a day shepulled herself together and went back to her school. She did not cry--Inever saw her shed a tear--but oh, her face and her eyes!

"'I must go on with my work, ' she said. 'That is my duty just now. '

"I could never have risen to such a height. 

"She never spoke bitterly except once, when Susan said something aboutspring being here at last, and Gertrude said, "'Can the spring really come this year?'

"Then she laughed--such a dreadful little laugh, just as one mightlaugh in the face of death, I think, and said, "'Observe my egotism. Because I, Gertrude Oliver, have lost a friend, it is incredible that the spring can come as usual. The spring does notfail because of the million agonies of others--but for mine--oh, canthe universe go on?'

"'Don't feel bitter with yourself, dear, ' mother said gently. 'It is avery natural thing to feel as if things couldn't go on just the samewhen some great blow has changed the world for us. We all feel likethat. '

"Then that horrid old Cousin Sophia of Susan's piped up. She wassitting there, knitting and croaking like an old 'raven of bode andwoe' as Walter used to call her. 

"'You ain't as bad off as some, Miss Oliver, ' she said, 'and youshouldn't take it so hard. There's some as has lost their husbands;that's a hard blow; and there's some as has lost their sons. Youhaven't lost either husband or son. '

"'No, ' said Gertrude, more bitterly still. 'It's true I haven't lost ahusband--I have only lost the man who would have been my husband. Ihave lost no son--only the sons and daughters who might have been bornto me--who will never be born to me now. '

"'It isn't ladylike to talk like that, ' said Cousin Sophia in a shockedtone; and then Gertrude laughed right out, so wildly that Cousin Sophiawas really frightened. And when poor tortured Gertrude, unable toendure it any longer, hurried out of the room, Cousin Sophia askedmother if the blow hadn't affected Miss Oliver's mind. 

"'I suffered the loss of two good kind partners, ' she said, 'but it didnot affect me like that. '

"I should think it wouldn't! Those poor men must have been thankful todie. 

"I heard Gertrude walking up and down her room most of the night. Shewalked like that every night. But never so long as that night. And onceI heard her give a dreadful sudden little cry as if she had beenstabbed. I couldn't sleep for suffering with her; and I couldn't helpher. I thought the night would never end. But it did; and then 'joycame in the morning' as the Bible says. Only it didn't come exactly inthe morning but well along in the afternoon. The telephone rang and Ianswered it. It was old Mrs. Grant speaking from Charlottetown, and hernews was that it was all a mistake--Robert wasn't killed at all; he hadonly been slightly wounded in the arm and was safe in the hospital outof harm's way for a time anyhow. They hadn't learned yet how themistake had happened but supposed there must have been another RobertGrant. 

"I hung up the telephone and flew to Rainbow Valley. I'm sure I didfly--I can't remember my feet ever touching the ground. I met Gertrudeon her way home from school in the glade of spruces where we used toplay, and I just gasped out the news to her. I ought to have had moresense, of course. But I was so crazy with joy and excitement that Inever stopped to think. Gertrude just dropped there among the goldenyoung ferns as if she had been shot. The fright it gave me ought tomake me sensible--in this respect at least--for the rest of my life. Ithought I had killed her--I remembered that her mother had died verysuddenly from heart failure when quite a young woman. It seemed yearsto me before I discovered that her heart was still beating. A prettytime I had! I never saw anybody faint before, and I knew there wasnobody up at the house to help, because everybody else had gone to thestation to meet Di and Nan coming home from Redmond. But Iknew--theoretically--how people in a faint should be treated, and now Iknow it practically. Luckily the brook was handy, and after I hadworked frantically over her for a while Gertrude came back to life. Shenever said one word about my news and I didn't dare to refer to itagain. I helped her walk up through the maple grove and up to her room, and then she said, 'Rob--is--living, ' as if the words were torn out ofher, and flung herself on her bed and cried and cried and cried. Inever saw anyone cry so before. All the tears that she hadn't shed allthat week came then. She cried most of last night, I think, but herface this morning looked as if she had seen a vision of some kind, andwe were all so happy that we were almost afraid. 

"Di and Nan are home for a couple of weeks. Then they go back to RedCross work in the training camp at Kingsport. I envy them. Father saysI'm doing just as good work here, with Jims and my Junior Reds. But itlacks the romance theirs must have. 

"Kut has fallen. It was almost a relief when it did fall, we had beendreading it so long. It crushed us flat for a day and then we picked upand put it behind us. Cousin Sophia was as gloomy as usual and cameover and groaned that the British were losing everywhere. 

"'They're good losers, ' said Susan grimly. 'When they lose a thing theykeep on looking till they find it again! Anyhow, my king and countryneed me now to cut potato sets for the back garden, so get you a knifeand help me, Sophia Crawford. It will divert your thoughts and keep youfrom worrying over a campaign that you are not called upon to run. '

"Susan is an old brick, and the way she flattens out poor Cousin Sophiais beautiful to behold. 

"As for Verdun, the battle goes on and on, and we see-saw between hopeand fear. But I know that strange dream of Miss Oliver's foretold thevictory of France. 'They shall not pass. '"

CHAPTER XX

NORMAN DOUGLAS SPEAKS OUT IN MEETING

"Where are you wandering, Anne o' mine?" asked the doctor, who evenyet, after twenty-four years of marriage, occasionally addressed hiswife thus when nobody was about. Anne was sitting on the veranda steps, gazing absently over the wonderful bridal world of spring blossom, Beyond the white orchard was a copse of dark young firs and creamy wildcherries, where the robins were whistling madly; for it was evening andthe fire of early stars was burning over the maple grove. 

Anne came back with a little sigh. 

"I was just taking relief from intolerable realities in a dream, Gilbert--a dream that all our children were home again--and all smallagain--playing in Rainbow Valley. It is always so silent now--but I wasimagining I heard clear voices and gay, childish sounds coming up as Iused to. I could hear Jem's whistle and Walter's yodel, and the twins'laughter, and for just a few blessed minutes I forgot about the guns onthe Western front, and had a little false, sweet happiness. "

The doctor did not answer. Sometimes his work tricked him intoforgetting for a few moments the Western front, but not often. Therewas a good deal of grey now in his still thick curls that had not beenthere two years ago. Yet he smiled down into the starry eyes heloved--the eyes that had once been so full of laughter, and now seemedalways full of unshed tears. 

Susan wandered by with a hoe in her hand and her second best bonnet onher head. 

"I have just finished reading a piece in the Enterprise which told of acouple being married in an aeroplane. Do you think it would be legal, doctor dear?" she inquired anxiously. 

"I think so, " said the doctor gravely. 

"Well, " said Susan dubiously, "it seems to me that a wedding is toosolemn for anything so giddy as an aeroplane. But nothing is the sameas it used to be. Well, it is half an hour yet before prayer-meetingtime, so I am going around to the kitchen garden to have a littleevening hate with the weeds. But all the time I am strafing them I willbe thinking about this new worry in the Trentino. I do not like thisAustrian caper, Mrs. Dr. Dear. "

"Nor I, " said Mrs. Blythe ruefully. "All the forenoon I preservedrhubarb with my hands and waited for the war news with my soul. When itcame I shrivelled. Well, I suppose I must go and get ready for theprayer-meeting, too. "

Every village has its own little unwritten history, handed down fromlip to lip through the generations, of tragic, comic, and dramaticevents. They are told at weddings and festivals, and rehearsed aroundwinter firesides. And in these oral annals of Glen St. Mary the tale ofthe union prayer-meeting held that night in the Methodist Church wasdestined to fill an imperishable place. 

The union prayer-meeting was Mr. Arnold's idea. The county battalion, which had been training all winter in Charlottetown, was to leaveshortly for overseas. The Four Winds Harbour boys belonging to it fromthe Glen and over-harbour and Harbour Head and Upper Glen were all homeon their last leave, and Mr. Arnold thought, properly enough, that itwould be a fitting thing to hold a union prayer-meeting for them beforethey went away. Mr. Meredith having agreed, the meeting was announcedto be held in the Methodist Church. Glen prayer-meetings were not aptto be too well attended, but on this particular evening the MethodistChurch was crowded. Everybody who could go was there. Even MissCornelia came--and it was the first time in her life that Miss Corneliahad ever set foot inside a Methodist Church. It took no less than aworld conflict to bring that about. 

"I used to hate Methodists, " said Miss Cornelia calmly, when herhusband expressed surprise over her going, "but I don't hate them now. There is no sense in hating Methodists when there is a Kaiser or aHindenburg in the world. "

So Miss Cornelia went. Norman Douglas and his wife went too. AndWhiskers-on-the-moon strutted up the aisle to a front pew, as if hefully realized what a distinction he conferred upon the building. People were somewhat surprised that he should be there, since heusually avoided all assemblages connected in any way with the war. ButMr. Meredith had said that he hoped his session would be wellrepresented, and Mr. Pryor had evidently taken the request to heart. Hewore his best black suit and white tie, his thick, tight, iron-greycurls were neatly arranged, and his broad, red round face looked, asSusan most uncharitably thought, more "sanctimonious" than ever. 

"The minute I saw that man coming into the Church, looking like that, Ifelt that mischief was brewing, Mrs. Dr. Dear, " she said afterwards. "What form it would take I could not tell, but I knew from face of himthat he had come there for no good. "

The prayer-meeting opened conventionally and continued quietly. Mr. Meredith spoke first with his usual eloquence and feeling. Mr. Arnoldfollowed with an address which even Miss Cornelia had to confess wasirreproachable in taste and subject-matter. 

And then Mr. Arnold asked Mr. Pryor to lead in prayer. 

Miss Cornelia had always averred that Mr. Arnold had no gumption. MissCornelia was not apt to err on the side of charity in her judgment ofMethodist ministers, but in this case she did not greatly overshoot themark. The Rev. Mr. Arnold certainly did not have much of thatdesirable, indefinable quality known as gumption, or he would neverhave asked Whiskers-on-the-moon to lead in prayer at a khakiprayer-meeting. He thought he was returning the compliment to Mr. Meredith, who, at the conclusion of his address, had asked a Methodistdeacon to lead. 

Some people expected Mr. Pryor to refuse grumpily--and that would havemade enough scandal. But Mr. Pryor bounded briskly to his feet, unctuously said, "Let us pray, " and forthwith prayed. In a sonorousvoice which penetrated to every corner of the crowded building Mr. Pryor poured forth a flood of fluent words, and was well on in hisprayer before his dazed and horrified audience awakened to the factthat they were listening to a pacifist appeal of the rankest sort. Mr. Pryor had at least the courage of his convictions; or perhaps, aspeople afterwards said, he thought he was safe in a church and that itwas an excellent chance to air certain opinions he dared not voiceelsewhere, for fear of being mobbed. He prayed that the unholy warmight cease--that the deluded armies being driven to slaughter on theWestern front might have their eyes opened to their iniquity and repentwhile yet there was time--that the poor young men present in khaki, whohad been hounded into a path of murder and militarism, should yet berescued--

Mr. Pryor had got this far without let or hindrance; and so paralysedwere his hearers, and so deeply imbued with their born-and-bredconviction that no disturbance must ever be made in a church, no matterwhat the provocation, that it seemed likely that he would continueunchecked to the end. But one man at least in that audience was nothampered by inherited or acquired reverence for the sacred edifice. Norman Douglas was, as Susan had often vowed crisply, nothing more orless than a "pagan. " But he was a rampantly patriotic pagan, and whenthe significance of what Mr. Pryor was saying fully dawned on him, Norman Douglas suddenly went berserk. With a positive roar he boundedto his feet in his side pew, facing the audience, and shouted in tonesof thunder:

"Stop--stop--STOP that abominable prayer! What an abominable prayer!"

Every head in the church flew up. A boy in khaki at the back gave afaint cheer. Mr. Meredith raised a deprecating hand, but Norman waspast caring for anything like that. Eluding his wife's restraininggrasp, he gave one mad spring over the front of the pew and caught theunfortunate Whiskers-on-the-moon by his coat collar. Mr. Pryor had not"stopped" when so bidden, but he stopped now, perforce, for Norman, hislong red beard literally bristling with fury, was shaking him until hisbones fairly rattled, and punctuating his shakes with a luridassortment of abusive epithets. 

"You blatant beast!"--shake--"You malignant carrion"--shake--"Youpig-headed varmint!"--shake--"you putrid pup"--shake--"you pestilentialparasite"--shake--"you--Hunnish scum"--shake--"you indecentreptile--you--you--" Norman choked for a moment. Everybody believedthat the next thing he would say, church or no church, would besomething that would have to be spelt with asterisks; but at thatmoment Norman encountered his wife's eye and he fell back with a thudon Holy Writ. "You whited sepulchre!" he bellowed, with a final shake, and cast Whiskers-on-the-moon from him with a vigour which impelledthat unhappy pacifist to the very verge of the choir entrance door. Mr. Pryor's once ruddy face was ashen. But he turned at bay. "I'll have thelaw on you for this, " he gasped. 

"Do--do, " roared Norman, making another rush. But Mr. Pryor was gone. He had no desire to fall a second time into the hands of an avengingmilitarist. Norman turned to the platform for one graceless, triumphantmoment. 

"Don't look so flabbergasted, parsons, " he boomed. "You couldn't doit--nobody would expect it of the cloth--but somebody had to do it. Youknow you're glad I threw him out--he couldn't be let go on yammeringand yodelling and yawping sedition and treason. Sedition andtreason--somebody had to deal with it. I was born for this hour--I'vehad my innings in church at last. I can sit quiet for another sixtyyears now! Go ahead with your meeting, parsons. I reckon you won't betroubled with any more pacifist prayers. "

But the spirit of devotion and reverence had fled. Both ministersrealized it and realized that the only thing to do was to close themeeting quietly and let the excited people go. Mr. Meredith addressed afew earnest words to the boys in khaki--which probably saved Mr. Pryor's windows from a second onslaught--and Mr. Arnold pronounced anincongruous benediction, at least he felt it was incongruous, for hecould not at once banish from his memory the sight of gigantic NormanDouglas shaking the fat, pompous little Whiskers-on-the-moon as a hugemastiff might shake an overgrown puppy. And he knew that the samepicture was in everybody's mind. Altogether the union prayer-meetingcould hardly be called an unqualified success. But it was remembered inGlen St. Mary when scores of orthodox and undisturbed assemblies weretotally forgotten. 

"You will never, no, never, Mrs. Dr. Dear, hear me call Norman Douglasa pagan again, " said Susan when she reached home. "If Ellen Douglas isnot a proud woman this night she should be. "

"Norman Douglas did a wholly indefensible thing, " said the doctor. "Pryor should have been let severely alone until the meeting was over. Then later on, his own minister and session should deal with him. Thatwould have been the proper procedure. Norman's performance was utterlyimproper and scandalous and outrageous; but, by George, "--the doctorthrew back his head and chuckled, "by George, Anne-girl, it wassatisfying. "

CHAPTER XXI

"LOVE AFFAIRS ARE HORRIBLE"

Ingleside 20th June 1916

"We have been so busy, and day after day has brought such excitingnews, good and bad, that I haven't had time and composure to write inmy diary for weeks. I like to keep it up regularly, for father says adiary of the years of the war should be a very interesting thing tohand down to one's children. The trouble is, I like to write a fewpersonal things in this blessed old book that might not be exactly whatI'd want my children to read. I feel that I shall be a far greaterstickler for propriety in regard to them than I am for myself!

"The first week in June was another dreadful one. The Austrians seemedjust on the point of overrunning Italy: and then came the first awfulnews of the Battle of Jutland, which the Germans claimed as a greatvictory. Susan was the only one who carried on. 'You need never tell methat the Kaiser has defeated the British Navy, ' she said, with acontemptuous sniff. 'It is all a German lie and that you may tie to. 'And when a couple of days later we found out that she was right andthat it had been a British victory instead of a British defeat, we hadto put up with a great many 'I told you so's, ' but we endured them verycomfortably. 

"It took Kitchener's death to finish Susan. For the first time I sawher down and out. We all felt the shock of it but Susan plumbed thedepths of despair. The news came at night by 'phone but Susan wouldn'tbelieve it until she saw the Enterprise headline the next day. She didnot cry or faint or go into hysterics; but she forgot to put salt inthe soup, and that is something Susan never did in my recollection. Mother and Miss Oliver and I cried but Susan looked at us in stonysarcasm and said, 'The Kaiser and his six sons are all alive andthriving. So the world is not left wholly desolate. Why cry, Mrs. Dr. Dear?' Susan continued in this stony, hopeless condition fortwenty-four hours, and then Cousin Sophia appeared and began to condolewith her. 

"'This is terrible news, ain't it, Susan? We might as well prepare forthe worst for it is bound to come. You said once--and well do Iremember the words, Susan Baker--that you had complete confidence inGod and Kitchener. Ah well, Susan Baker, there is only God left now. '

"Whereat Cousin Sophia put her handkerchief to her eyes pathetically asif the world were indeed in terrible straits. As for Susan, CousinSophia was the salvation of her. She came to life with a jerk. 

"'Sophia Crawford, hold your peace!' she said sternly. 'You may be anidiot but you need not be an irreverent idiot. It is no more thandecent to be weeping and wailing because the Almighty is the sole stayof the Allies now. As for Kitchener, his death is a great loss and I donot dispute it. But the outcome of this war does not depend on oneman's life and now that the Russians are coming on again you will soonsee a change for the better. '

"Susan said this so energetically that she convinced herself andcheered up immediately. But Cousin Sophia shook her head. 

"'Albert's wife wants to call the baby after Brusiloff, ' she said, 'butI told her to wait and see what becomes of him first. Them Russians hassuch a habit of petering out. '

"The Russians are doing splendidly, however, and they have saved Italy. But even when the daily news of their sweeping advance comes we don'tfeel like running up the flag as we used to do. As Gertrude says, Verdun has slain all exultation. We would all feel more like rejoicingif the victories were on the western front. 'When will the Britishstrike?' Gertrude sighed this morning. 'We have waited so long--solong. '

"Our greatest local event in recent weeks was the route march thecounty battalion made through the county before it left for overseas. They marched from Charlottetown to Lowbridge, then round the HarbourHead and through the Upper Glen and so down to the St. Mary station. Everybody turned out to see them, except old Aunt Fannie Clow, who isbedridden and Mr. Pryor, who hadn't been seen out even in church sincethe night of the Union Prayer Meeting the previous week. 

"It was wonderful and heartbreaking to see that battalion marchingpast. There were young men and middle-aged men in it. There was LaurieMcAllister from over-harbour who is only sixteen but swore he waseighteen, so that he could enlist; and there was Angus Mackenzie, fromthe Upper Glen who is fifty-five if he is a day and swore he wasforty-four. There were two South African veterans from Lowbridge, andthe three eighteen-year-old Baxter triplets from Harbour Head. Everybody cheered as they went by, and they cheered Foster Booth, whois forty, walking side by side with his son Charley who is twenty. Charley's mother died when he was born, and when Charley enlistedFoster said he'd never yet let Charley go anywhere he daren't gohimself, and he didn't mean to begin with the Flanders trenches. At thestation Dog Monday nearly went out of his head. He tore about and sentmessages to Jem by them all. Mr. Meredith read an address and RetaCrawford recited 'The Piper. ' The soldiers cheered her like mad andcried 'We'll follow--we'll follow--we won't break faith, ' and I felt soproud to think that it was my dear brother who had written such awonderful, heart-stirring thing. And then I looked at the khaki ranksand wondered if those tall fellows in uniform could be the boys I'velaughed with and played with and danced with and teased all my life. Something seems to have touched them and set them apart. They haveheard the Piper's call. 

"Fred Arnold was in the battalion and I felt dreadfully about him, forI realized that it was because of me that he was going away with such asorrowful expression. I couldn't help it but I felt as badly as if Icould. 

"The last evening of his leave Fred came up to Ingleside and told me heloved me and asked me if I would promise to marry him some day, if heever came back. He was desperately in earnest and I felt more wretchedthan I ever did in my life. I couldn't promise him that--why, even ifthere was no question of Ken, I don't care for Fred that way and nevercould--but it seemed so cruel and heartless to send him away to thefront without any hope of comfort. I cried like a baby; and yet--oh, Iam afraid that there must be something incurably frivolous about me, because, right in the middle of it all, with me crying and Fred lookingso wild and tragic, the thought popped into my head that it would be anunendurable thing to see that nose across from me at the breakfasttable every morning of my life. There, that is one of the entries Iwouldn't want my descendants to read in this journal. But it is thehumiliating truth; and perhaps it's just as well that thought did comeor I might have been tricked by pity and remorse into giving him somerash assurance. If Fred's nose were as handsome as his eyes and mouthsome such thing might have happened. And then what an unthinkablepredicament I should have been in!

"When poor Fred became convinced that I couldn't promise him, hebehaved beautifully--though that rather made things worse. If he hadbeen nasty about it I wouldn't have felt so heartbroken andremorseful--though why I should feel remorseful I don't know, for Inever encouraged Fred to think I cared a bit about him. Yet feelremorseful I did--and do. If Fred Arnold never comes back fromoverseas, this will haunt me all my life. 

"Then Fred said if he couldn't take my love with him to the trenches atleast he wanted to feel that he had my friendship, and would I kiss himjust once in good-bye before he went--perhaps for ever?

"I don't know how I could ever had imagined that love affairs weredelightful, interesting things. They are horrible. I couldn't even givepoor heartbroken Fred one little kiss, because of my promise to Ken. Itseemed so brutal. I had to tell Fred that of course he would have myfriendship, but that I couldn't kiss him because I had promisedsomebody else I wouldn't. 

"He said, 'It is--is it--Ken Ford?'

"I nodded. It seemed dreadful to have to tell it--it was such a sacredlittle secret just between me and Ken. 

"When Fred went away I came up here to my room and cried so long and sobitterly that mother came up and insisted on knowing what was thematter. I told her. She listened to my tale with an expression thatclearly said, 'Can it be possible that anyone has been wanting to marrythis baby?' But she was so nice and understanding and sympathetic, oh, just so race-of-Josephy--that I felt indescribably comforted. Mothersare the dearest things. 

"'But oh, mother, ' I sobbed, 'he wanted me to kiss him good-bye--and Icouldn't--and that hurt me worse than all the rest. '

"'Well, why didn't you kiss him?' asked mother coolly. 'Considering thecircumstances, I think you might have. '

"'But I couldn't, mother--I promised Ken when he went away that Iwouldn't kiss anybody else until he came back. '

"This was another high explosive for poor mother. She exclaimed, withthe queerest little catch in her voice, 'Rilla, are you engaged toKenneth Ford?'

"'I--don't--know, ' I sobbed. 

"'You--don't--know?' repeated mother. 

"Then I had to tell her the whole story, too; and every time I tell itit seems sillier and sillier to imagine that Ken meant anythingserious. I felt idiotic and ashamed by the time I got through. 

"Mother sat a little while in silence. Then she came over, sat downbeside me, and took me in her arms. 

"'Don't cry, dear little Rilla-my-Rilla. You have nothing to reproachyourself with in regard to Fred; and if Leslie West's son asked you tokeep your lips for him, I think you may consider yourself engaged tohim. But--oh, my baby--my last little baby--I have lost you--the warhas made a woman of you too soon. '

"I shall never be too much of a woman to find comfort in mother's hugs. Nevertheless, when I saw Fred marching by two days later in the parade, my heart ached unbearably. 

"But I'm glad mother thinks I'm really engaged to Ken!"

CHAPTER XXII

LITTLE DOG MONDAY KNOWS

"It is two years tonight since the dance at the light, when JackElliott brought us news of the war. Do you remember, Miss Oliver?"

Cousin Sophia answered for Miss Oliver. "Oh, indeed, Rilla, I rememberthat evening only too well, and you a-prancing down here to show offyour party clothes. Didn't I warn you that we could not tell what wasbefore us? Little did you think that night what was before you. "

"Little did any of us think that, " said Susan sharply, "not beinggifted with the power of prophecy. It does not require any greatforesight, Sophia Crawford, to tell a body that she will have sometrouble before her life is over. I could do as much myself. "

"We all thought the war would be over in a few months then, " said Rillawistfully. "When I look back it seems so ridiculous that we ever couldhave supposed it. "

"And now, two years later, it is no nearer the end than it was then, "said Miss Oliver gloomily. 

Susan clicked her knitting-needles briskly. 

"Now, Miss Oliver, dear, you know that is not a reasonable remark. Youknow we are just two years nearer the end, whenever the end isappointed to be. "

"Albert read in a Montreal paper today that a war expert gives it ashis opinion that it will last five years more, " was Cousin Sophia'scheerful contribution. 

"It can't, " cried Rilla; then she added with a sigh, "Two years ago wewould have said 'It can't last two years. ' But five more years of this!"

"If Rumania comes in, as I have strong hopes now of her doing, you willsee the end in five months instead of five years, " said Susan. 

"I've no faith in furriners, " sighed Cousin Sophia. 

"The French are foreigners, " retorted Susan, "and look at Verdun. Andthink of all the Somme victories this blessed summer. The Big Push ison and the Russians are still going well. Why, General Haig says thatthe German officers he has captured admit that they have lost the war. "

"You can't believe a word the Germans say, " protested Cousin Sophia. "There is no sense in believing a thing just because you'd like tobelieve it, Susan Baker. The British have lost millions of men at theSomme and how far have they got? Look facts in the face, Susan Baker, look facts in the face. "

"They are wearing the Germans out and so long as that happens it doesnot matter whether it is done a few miles east or a few miles west. Iam not, " admitted Susan in tremendous humility, "I am not a militaryexpert, Sophia Crawford, but even I can see that, and so could you ifyou were not determined to take a gloomy view of everything. The Hunshave not got all the cleverness in the world. Have you not heard thestory of Alistair MacCallum's son Roderick, from the Upper Glen? He isa prisoner in Germany and his mother got a letter from him last week. He wrote that he was being very kindly treated and that all theprisoners had plenty of food and so on, till you would have supposedeverything was lovely. But when he signed his name, right in betweenRoderick and MacCallum, he wrote two Gaelic words that meant 'all lies'and the German censor did not understand Gaelic and thought it was allpart of Roddy's name. So he let it pass, never dreaming how he wasdiddled. Well, I am going to leave the war to Haig for the rest of theday and make a frosting for my chocolate cake. And when it is made Ishall put it on the top shelf. The last one I made I left it on thelower shelf and little Kitchener sneaked in and clawed all the icingoff and ate it. We had company for tea that night and when I went toget my cake what a sight did I behold!"

"Has that pore orphan's father never been heerd from yet?" asked CousinSophia. 

"Yes, I had a letter from him in July, " said Rilla. "He said that whenhe got word of his wife's death and of my taking the baby--Mr. Meredithwrote him, you know--he wrote right away, but as he never got anyanswer he had begun to think his letter must have been lost. "

"It took him two years to begin to think it, " said Susan scornfully. "Some people think very slow. Jim Anderson has not got a scratch, forall he has been two years in the trenches. A fool for luck, as the oldproverb says. "

"He wrote very nicely about Jims and said he'd like to see him, " saidRilla. "So I wrote and told him all about the wee man, and sent himsnapshots. Jims will be two years old next week and he is a perfectduck. "

"You didn't used to be very fond of babies, " said Cousin Sophia. 

"I'm not a bit fonder of babies in the abstract than ever I was, " saidRilla, frankly. "But I do love Jims, and I'm afraid I wasn't reallyhalf as glad as I should have been when Jim Anderson's letter provedthat he was safe and sound. "

"You wasn't hoping the man would be killed!" cried Cousin Sophia inhorrified accents. 

"No--no--no! I just hoped he would go on forgetting about Jims, Mrs. Crawford. "

"And then your pa would have the expense of raising him, " said CousinSophia reprovingly. "You young creeturs are terrible thoughtless. "

Jims himself ran in at this juncture, so rosy and curly and kissable, that he extorted a qualified compliment even from Cousin Sophia. 

"He's a reel healthy-looking child now, though mebbee his colour is amite too high--sorter consumptive looking, as you might say. I neverthought you'd raise him when I saw him the day after you brung himhome. I reely did not think it was in you and I told Albert's wife sowhen I got home. Albert's wife says, says she, 'There's more in RillaBlythe than you'd think for, Aunt Sophia. ' Them was her very words. 'More in Rilla Blythe than you'd think for. ' Albert's wife always had agood opinion of you. "

Cousin Sophia sighed, as if to imply that Albert's wife stood alone inthis against the world. But Cousin Sophia really did not mean that. Shewas quite fond of Rilla in her own melancholy way; but young creeturshad to be kept down. If they were not kept down society would bedemoralized. 

"Do you remember your walk home from the light two years ago tonight?"whispered Gertrude Oliver to Rilla, teasingly. 

"I should think I do, " smiled Rilla; and then her smile grew dreamy andabsent; she was remembering something else--that hour with Kenneth onthe sandshore. Where would Ken be tonight? And Jem and Jerry and Walterand all the other boys who had danced and moonlighted on the old FourWinds Point that evening of mirth and laughter--their last joyousunclouded evening. In the filthy trenches of the Somme front, with theroar of the guns and the groans of stricken men for the music of NedBurr's violin, and the flash of star shells for the silver sparkles onthe old blue gulf. Two of them were sleeping under the Flanderspoppies--Alec Burr from the Upper Glen, and Clark Manley of Lowbridge. Others were wounded in the hospitals. But so far nothing had touchedthe manse and the Ingleside boys. They seemed to bear charmed lives. Yet the suspense never grew any easier to bear as the weeks and monthsof war went by. 

"It isn't as if it were some sort of fever to which you might concludethey were immune when they hadn't taken it for two years, " sighedRilla. "The danger is just as great and just as real as it was thefirst day they went into the trenches. I know this, and it tortures meevery day. And yet I can't help hoping that since they've come this farunhurt they'll come through. Oh, Miss Oliver, what would it be like notto wake up in the morning feeling afraid of the news the day wouldbring? I can't picture such a state of things somehow. And two yearsago this morning I woke wondering what delightful gift the new daywould give me. These are the two years I thought would be filled withfun. "

"Would you exchange them--now--for two years filled with fun?"

"No, " said Rilla slowly. "I wouldn't. It's strange--isn't it?--Theyhave been two terrible years--and yet I have a queer feeling ofthankfulness for them--as if they had brought me something veryprecious, with all their pain. I wouldn't want to go back and be thegirl I was two years ago, not even if I could. Not that I think I'vemade any wonderful progress--but I'm not quite the selfish, frivolouslittle doll I was then. I suppose I had a soul then, Miss Oliver--but Ididn't know it. I know it now--and that is worth a great deal--worthall the suffering of the past two years. And still"--Rilla gave alittle apologetic laugh, "I don't want to suffer any more--not even forthe sake of more soul growth. At the end of two more years I might lookback and be thankful for the development they had brought me, too; butI don't want it now. "

"We never do, " said Miss Oliver. "That is why we are not left to chooseour own means and measure of development, I suppose. No matter how muchwe value what our lessons have brought us we don't want to go on withthe bitter schooling. Well, let us hope for the best, as Susan says;things are really going well now and if Rumania lines up, the end maycome with a suddenness that will surprise us all. "

Rumania did come in--and Susan remarked approvingly that its king andqueen were the finest looking royal couple she had seen pictures of. Sothe summer passed away. Early in September word came that the Canadianshad been shifted to the Somme front and anxiety grew tenser and deeper. For the first time Mrs. Blythe's spirit failed her a little, and as thedays of suspense wore on the doctor began to look gravely at her, andveto this or that special effort in Red Cross work. 

"Oh, let me work--let me work, Gilbert, " she entreated feverishly. "While I'm working I don't think so much. If I'm idle I imagineeverything--rest is only torture for me. My two boys are on thefrightful Somme front--and Shirley pores day and night over aviationliterature and says nothing. But I see the purpose growing in his eyes. No, I cannot rest--don't ask it of me, Gilbert. "

But the doctor was inexorable. 

"I can't let you kill yourself, Anne-girl, " he said. "When the boyscome back I want a mother here to welcome them. Why, you're gettingtransparent. It won't do--ask Susan there if it will do. "

"Oh, if Susan and you are both banded together against me!" said Annehelplessly. 

One day the glorious news came that the Canadians had taken Courceletteand Martenpuich, with many prisoners and guns. Susan ran up the flagand said it was plain to be seen that Haig knew what soldiers to pickfor a hard job. The others dared not feel exultant. Who knew what pricehad been paid?

Rilla woke that morning when the dawn was beginning to break and wentto her window to look out, her thick creamy eyelids heavy with sleep. Just at dawn the world looks as it never looks at any other time. Theair was cold with dew and the orchard and grove and Rainbow Valley werefull of mystery and wonder. Over the eastern hill were golden deeps andsilvery-pink shallows. There was no wind, and Rilla heard distinctly adog howling in a melancholy way down in the direction of the station. Was it Dog Monday? And if it were, why was he howling like that? Rillashivered; the sound had something boding and grievous in it. Sheremembered that Miss Oliver said once, when they were coming home inthe darkness and heard a dog howl, "When a dog cries like that theAngel of Death is passing. " Rilla listened with a curdling fear at herheart. It was Dog Monday--she felt sure of it. Whose dirge was hehowling--to whose spirit was he sending that anguished greeting andfarewell?

Rilla went back to bed but she could not sleep. All day she watched andwaited in a dread of which she did not speak to anyone. She went downto see Dog Monday and the station-master said, "That dog of yourshowled from midnight to sunrise something weird. I dunno what got intohim. I got up once and went out and hollered at him but he paid no'tention to me. He was sitting all alone in the moonlight out there atthe end of the platform, and every few minutes the poor lonely littlebeggar'd lift his nose and howl as if his heart was breaking. He neverdid it afore--always slept in his kennel real quiet and canny fromtrain to train. But he sure had something on his mind last night. "

Dog Monday was lying in his kennel. He wagged his tail and lickedRilla's hand. But he would not touch the food she brought for him. 

"I'm afraid he's sick, " she said anxiously. She hated to go away andleave him. But no bad news came that day--nor the next--nor the next. Rilla's fear lifted. Dog Monday howled no more and resumed his routineof train meeting and watching. When five days had passed the Inglesidepeople began to feel that they might be cheerful again. Rilla dashedabout the kitchen helping Susan with the breakfast and singing sosweetly and clearly that Cousin Sophia across the road heard her andcroaked out to Mrs. Albert, "'Sing before eating, cry before sleeping, ' I've always heard. "

But Rilla Blythe shed no tears before the nightfall. When her father, his face grey and drawn and old, came to her that afternoon and toldher that Walter had been killed in action at Courcelette she crumpledup in a pitiful little heap of merciful unconsciousness in his arms. Nor did she waken to her pain for many hours. 

CHAPTER XXIII

"AND SO, GOODNIGHT"

The fierce flame of agony had burned itself out and the grey dust ofits ashes was over all the world. Rilla's younger life recoveredphysically sooner than her mother. For weeks Mrs. Blythe lay ill fromgrief and shock. Rilla found it was possible to go on with existence, since existence had still to be reckoned with. There was work to bedone, for Susan could not do all. For her mother's sake she had to puton calmness and endurance as a garment in the day; but night afternight she lay in her bed, weeping the bitter rebellious tears of youthuntil at last tears were all wept out and the little patient ache thatwas to be in her heart until she died took their place. 

She clung to Miss Oliver, who knew what to say and what not to say. Sofew people did. Kind, well-meaning callers and comforters gave Rillasome terrible moments. 

"You'll get over it in time, " Mrs. William Reese said, cheerfully. Mrs. Reese had three stalwart sons, not one of whom had gone to the front. 

"It's such a blessing it was Walter who was taken and not Jem, " saidMiss Sarah Clow. "Walter was a member of the church, and Jem wasn't. I've told Mr. Meredith many a time that he should have spoken seriouslyto Jem about it before he went away. "

"Pore, pore Walter, " sighed Mrs. Reese. 

"Do not you come here calling him poor Walter, " said Susan indignantly, appearing in the kitchen door, much to the relief of Rilla, who feltthat she could endure no more just then. "He was not poor. He wasricher than any of you. It is you who stay at home and will not letyour sons go who are poor--poor and naked and mean and small--pisenpoor, and so are your sons, with all their prosperous farms and fatcattle and their souls no bigger than a flea's--if as big. "

"I came here to comfort the afflicted and not to be insulted, " saidMrs. Reese, taking her departure, unregretted by anyone. Then the firewent out of Susan and she retreated to her kitchen, laid her faithfulold head on the table and wept bitterly for a time. Then she went towork and ironed Jims's little rompers. Rilla scolded her gently for itwhen she herself came in to do it. 

"I am not going to have you kill yourself working for any war-baby, "Susan said obstinately. 

"Oh, I wish I could just keep on working all the time, Susan, " criedpoor Rilla. "And I wish I didn't have to go to sleep. It is hideous togo to sleep and forget it for a little while, and wake up and have itall rush over me anew the next morning. Do people ever get used tothings like this, Susan? And oh, Susan, I can't get away from what Mrs. Reese said. Did Walter suffer much--he was always so sensitive to pain. Oh, Susan, if I knew that he didn't I think I could gather up a littlecourage and strength. "

This merciful knowledge was given to Rilla. A letter came from Walter'scommanding officer, telling them that he had been killed instantly by abullet during a charge at Courcelette. The same day there was a letterfor Rilla from Walter himself. 

Rilla carried it unopened to Rainbow Valley and read it there, in thespot where she had had her last talk with him. It is a strange thing toread a letter after the writer is dead--a bitter-sweet thing, in whichpain and comfort are strangely mingled. For the first time since theblow had fallen Rilla felt--a different thing from tremulous hope andfaith--that Walter, of the glorious gift and the splendid ideals, stilllived, with just the same gift and just the same ideals. That could notbe destroyed--these could suffer no eclipse. The personality that hadexpressed itself in that last letter, written on the eve ofCourcelette, could not be snuffed out by a German bullet. It must carryon, though the earthly link with things of earth were broken. 

"We're going over the top tomorrow, Rilla-my-Rilla, " wrote Walter. "Iwrote mother and Di yesterday, but somehow I feel as if I must writeyou tonight. I hadn't intended to do any writing tonight--but I've gotto. Do you remember old Mrs. Tom Crawford over-harbour, who was alwayssaying that it was 'laid on her' to do such and such a thing? Well, that is just how I feel. It's 'laid on me' to write you tonight--you, sister and chum of mine. There are some things I want to saybefore--well, before tomorrow. 

"You and Ingleside seem strangely near me tonight. It's the first timeI've felt this since I came. Always home has seemed so far away--sohopelessly far away from this hideous welter of filth and blood. Buttonight it is quite close to me--it seems to me I can almost seeyou--hear you speak. And I can see the moonlight shining white andstill on the old hills of home. It has seemed to me ever since I camehere that it was impossible that there could be calm gentle nights andunshattered moonlight anywhere in the world. But tonight somehow, allthe beautiful things I have always loved seem to have become possibleagain--and this is good, and makes me feel a deep, certain, exquisitehappiness. It must be autumn at home now--the harbour is a-dream andthe old Glen hills blue with haze, and Rainbow Valley a haunt ofdelight with wild asters blowing all over it--our old"farewell-summers. " I always liked that name better than 'aster'--itwas a poem in itself. 

"Rilla, you know I've always had premonitions. You remember the PiedPiper--but no, of course you wouldn't--you were too young. One eveninglong ago when Nan and Di and Jem and the Merediths and I were togetherin Rainbow Valley I had a queer vision or presentiment--whatever youlike to call it. Rilla, I saw the Piper coming down the Valley with ashadowy host behind him. The others thought I was only pretending--butI saw him for just one moment. And Rilla, last night I saw him again. Iwas doing sentry-go and I saw him marching across No-man's-land fromour trenches to the German trenches--the same tall shadowy form, pipingweirdly--and behind him followed boys in khaki. Rilla, I tell you I sawhim--it was no fancy--no illusion. I heard his music, and then--he wasgone. But I had seen him--and I knew what it meant--I knew that I wasamong those who followed him. 

"Rilla, the Piper will pipe me 'west' tomorrow. I feel sure of this. And Rilla, I'm not afraid. When you hear the news, remember that. I'vewon my own freedom here--freedom from all fear. I shall never be afraidof anything again--not of death--nor of life, if after all, I am to goon living. And life, I think, would be the harder of the two toface--for it could never be beautiful for me again. There would alwaysbe such horrible things to remember--things that would make life uglyand painful always for me. I could never forget them. But whether it'slife or death, I'm not afraid, Rilla-my-Rilla, and I am not sorry thatI came. I'm satisfied. I'll never write the poems I once dreamed ofwriting--but I've helped to make Canada safe for the poets of thefuture--for the workers of the future--ay, and the dreamers, too--forif no man dreams, there will be nothing for the workers to fulfil--thefuture, not of Canada only but of the world--when the 'red rain' ofLangemarck and Verdun shall have brought forth a golden harvest--not ina year or two, as some foolishly think, but a generation later, whenthe seed sown now shall have had time to germinate and grow. Yes, I'mglad I came, Rilla. It isn't only the fate of the little sea-bornisland I love that is in the balance--nor of Canada nor of England. It's the fate of mankind. That is what we're fighting for. And we shallwin--never for a moment doubt that, Rilla. For it isn't only the livingwho are fighting--the dead are fighting too. Such an army cannot bedefeated. 

"Is there laughter in your face yet, Rilla? I hope so. The world willneed laughter and courage more than ever in the years that will comenext. I don't want to preach--this isn't any time for it. But I justwant to say something that may help you over the worst when you hearthat I've gone 'west. ' I've a premonition about you, Rilla, as well asabout myself. I think Ken will go back to you--and that there are longyears of happiness for you by-and-by. And you will tell your childrenof the Idea we fought and died for--teach them it must be lived for aswell as died for, else the price paid for it will have been given fornought. This will be part of your work, Rilla. And if you--all yougirls back in the homeland--do it, then we who don't come back willknow that you have not 'broken faith' with us. 

"I meant to write to Una tonight, too, but I won't have time now. Readthis letter to her and tell her it's really meant for you both--you twodear, fine loyal girls. Tomorrow, when we go over the top--I'll thinkof you both--of your laughter, Rilla-my-Rilla, and the steadfastness inUna's blue eyes--somehow I see those eyes very plainly tonight, too. Yes, you'll both keep faith--I'm sure of that--you and Una. Andso--goodnight. We go over the top at dawn. "

Rilla read her letter over many times. There was a new light on herpale young face when she finally stood up, amid the asters Walter hadloved, with the sunshine of autumn around her. For the moment at least, she was lifted above pain and loneliness. 

"I will keep faith, Walter, " she said steadily. "I will work--andteach--and learn--and laugh, yes, I will even laugh--through all myyears, because of you and because of what you gave when you followedthe call. "

Rilla meant to keep Walter's letter as a a sacred treasure. But, seeingthe look on Una Meredith's face when Una had read it and held it backto her, she thought of something. Could she do it? Oh, no, she couldnot give up Walter's letter--his last letter. Surely it was notselfishness to keep it. A copy would be such a soulless thing. ButUna--Una had so little--and her eyes were the eyes of a woman strickento the heart, who yet must not cry out or ask for sympathy. 

"Una, would you like to have this letter--to keep?" she asked slowly. 

"Yes--if you can give it to me, " Una said dully. 

"Then--you may have it, " said Rilla hurriedly. 

"Thank you, " said Una. It was all she said, but there was something inher voice which repaid Rilla for her bit of sacrifice. 

Una took the letter and when Rilla had gone she pressed it against herlonely lips. Una knew that love would never come into her life now--itwas buried for ever under the blood-stained soil "Somewhere in France. "No one but herself--and perhaps Rilla--knew it--would ever know it. Shehad no right in the eyes of her world to grieve. She must hide and bearher long pain as best she could--alone. But she, too, would keep faith. 

CHAPTER XXIV

MARY IS JUST IN TIME

The autumn of 1916 was a bitter season for Ingleside. Mrs. Blythe'sreturn to health was slow, and sorrow and loneliness were in allhearts. Every one tried to hide it from the others and "carry on"cheerfully. Rilla laughed a good deal. Nobody at Ingleside was deceivedby her laughter; it came from her lips only, never from her heart. Butoutsiders said some people got over trouble very easily, and IreneHoward remarked that she was surprised to find how shallow Rilla Blythereally was. "Why, after all her pose of being so devoted to Walter, shedoesn't seem to mind his death at all. Nobody has ever seen her shed atear or heard her mention his name. She has evidently quite forgottenhim. Poor fellow--you'd really think his family would feel it more. Ispoke of him to Rilla at the last Junior Red meeting--of how fine andbrave and splendid he was--and I said life could never be just the sameto me again, now that Walter had gone--we were such friends, youknow--why I was the very first person he told about havingenlisted--and Rilla answered, as coolly and indifferently as if shewere speaking of an entire stranger, 'He was just one of many fine andsplendid boys who have given everything for their country. ' Well, Iwish I could take things as calmly--but I'm not made like that. I'm sosensitive--things hurt me terribly--I really never get over them. Iasked Rilla right out why she didn't put on mourning for Walter. Shesaid her mother didn't wish it. But every one is talking about it. "

"Rilla doesn't wear colours--nothing but white, " protested Betty Mead. 

"White becomes her better than anything else, " said Irenesignificantly. "And we all know black doesn't suit her complexion atall. But of course I'm not saying that is the reason she doesn't wearit. Only, it's funny. If my brother had died I'd have gone into deepmourning. I wouldn't have had the heart for anything else. I confessI'm disappointed in Rilla Blythe. "

"I am not, then, " cried Betty Meade, loyally, "I think Rilla is just awonderful girl. A few years ago I admit I did think she was rather toovain and gigglesome; but now she is nothing of the sort. I don't thinkthere is a girl in the Glen who is so unselfish and plucky as Rilla, orwho has done her bit as thoroughly and patiently. Our Junior Red Crosswould have gone on the rocks a dozen times if it hadn't been for hertact and perseverance and enthusiasm--you know that perfectly well, Irene. "

"Why, I am not running Rilla down, " said Irene, opening her eyeswidely. "It was only her lack of feeling I was criticizing. I supposeshe can't help it. Of course, she's a born manager--everyone knowsthat. She's very fond of managing, too--and people like that are verynecessary I admit. So don't look at me as if I'd said somethingperfectly dreadful, Betty, please. I'm quite willing to agree thatRilla Blythe is the embodiment of all the virtues, if that will pleaseyou. And no doubt it is a virtue to be quite unmoved by things thatwould crush most people. "

Some of Irene's remarks were reported to Rilla; but they did not hurther as they would once have done. They didn't matter, that was all. Life was too big to leave room for pettiness. She had a pact to keepand a work to do; and through the long hard days and weeks of thatdisastrous autumn she was faithful to her task. The war news wasconsistently bad, for Germany marched from victory to victory over poorRumania. "Foreigners--foreigners, " Susan muttered dubiously. "Russiansor Rumanians or whatever they may be, they are foreigners and youcannot tie to them. But after Verdun I shall not give up hope. And canyou tell me, Mrs. Dr. Dear, if the Dobruja is a river or a mountainrange, or a condition of the atmosphere?"

The Presidential election in the United States came off in November, and Susan was red-hot over that--and quite apologetic for herexcitement. 

"I never thought I would live to see the day when I would be interestedin a Yankee election, Mrs. Dr. Dear. It only goes to show we can neverknow what we will come to in this world, and therefore we should not beproud. "

Susan stayed up late on the evening of the eleventh, ostensibly tofinish a pair of socks. But she 'phoned down to Carter Flagg's store atintervals, and when the first report came through that Hughes had beenelected she stalked solemnly upstairs to Mrs. Blythe's room andannounced it in a thrilling whisper from the foot of the bed. 

"I thought if you were not asleep you would be interested in knowingit. I believe it is for the best. Perhaps he will just fall to writingnotes, too, Mrs. Dr. Dear, but I hope for better things. I never wasvery partial to whiskers, but one cannot have everything. "

When news came in the morning that after all Wilson was re-elected, Susan tacked to catch another breeze of optimism. 

"Well, better a fool you know than a fool you do not know, as the oldproverb has it, " she remarked cheerfully. "Not that I hold Woodrow tobe a fool by any means, though by times you would not think he has thesense he was born with. But he is a good letter writer at least, and wedo not know if the Hughes man is even that. All things being consideredI commend the Yankees. They have shown good sense and I do not mindadmitting it. Cousin Sophia wanted them to elect Roosevelt, and is muchdisgruntled because they would not give him a chance. I had a hankeringfor him myself, but we must believe that Providence over-rules thesematters and be satisfied--though what the Almighty means in this affairof Rumania I cannot fathom--saying it with all reverence. "

Susan fathomed it--or thought she did--when the Asquith ministry wentdown and Lloyd George became Premier. 

"Mrs. Dr. Dear, Lloyd George is at the helm at last. I have beenpraying for this for many a day. Now we shall soon see a blessedchange. It took the Rumanian disaster to bring it about, no less, andthat is the meaning of it, though I could not see it before. There willbe no more shilly-shallying. I consider that the war is as good as won, and that I shall tie to, whether Bucharest falls or not. "

Bucharest did fall--and Germany proposed peace negotiations. WhereatSusan scornfully turned a deaf ear and absolutely refused to listen tosuch proposals. When President Wilson sent his famous December peacenote Susan waxed violently sarcastic. 

"Woodrow Wilson is going to make peace, I understand. First Henry Fordhad a try at it and now comes Wilson. But peace is not made with ink, Woodrow, and that you may tie to, " said Susan, apostrophizing theunlucky President out of the kitchen window nearest the United States. "Lloyd George's speech will tell the Kaiser what is what, and you maykeep your peace screeds at home and save postage. "

"What a pity President Wilson can't hear you, Susan, " said Rilla slyly. 

"Indeed, Rilla dear, it is a pity that he has no one near him to givehim good advice, as it is clear he has not, in all those Democrats andRepublicans, " retorted Susan. "I do not know the difference betweenthem, for the politics of the Yankees is a puzzle I cannot solve, studyit as I may. But as far as seeing through a grindstone goes, I amafraid--" Susan shook her head dubiously, "that they are all tarredwith the same brush. "

"I am thankful Christmas is over, " Rilla wrote in her diary during thelast week of a stormy December. "We had dreaded it so--the firstChristmas since Courcelette. But we had all the Merediths down fordinner and nobody tried to be gay or cheerful. We were all just quietand friendly, and that helped. Then, too, I was so thankful that Jimshad got better--so thankful that I almost felt glad--almost but notquite. I wonder if I shall ever feel really glad over anything again. It seems as if gladness were killed in me--shot down by the same bulletthat pierced Walter's heart. Perhaps some day a new kind of gladnesswill be born in my soul--but the old kind will never live again. 

"Winter set in awfully early this year. Ten days before Christmas wehad a big snowstorm--at least we thought it big at the time. As ithappened, it was only a prelude to the real performance. It was finethe next day, and Ingleside and Rainbow Valley were wonderful, with thetrees all covered with snow, and big drifts everywhere, carved into themost fantastic shapes by the chisel of the northeast wind. Father andmother went up to Avonlea. Father thought the change would do mothergood, and they wanted to see poor Aunt Diana, whose son Jock had beenseriously wounded a short time before. They left Susan and me to keephouse, and father expected to be back the next day. But he never gotback for a week. That night it began to storm again, and it stormedunbrokenly for four days. It was the worst and longest storm thatPrince Edward Island has known for years. Everything wasdisorganized--the roads were completely choked up, the trainsblockaded, and the telephone wires put entirely out of commission. 

"And then Jims took ill. 

"He had a little cold when father and mother went away, and he keptgetting worse for a couple of days, but it didn't occur to me thatthere was danger of anything serious. I never even took histemperature, and I can't forgive myself, because it was sheercarelessness. The truth is I had slumped just then. Mother was away, soI let myself go. All at once I was tired of keeping up and pretendingto be brave and cheerful, and I just gave up for a few days and spentmost of the time lying on my face on my bed, crying. I neglectedJims--that is the hateful truth--I was cowardly and false to what Ipromised Walter--and if Jims had died I could never have forgivenmyself. 

"Then, the third night after father and mother went away, Jims suddenlygot worse--oh, so much worse--all at once. Susan and I were all alone. Gertrude had been at Lowbridge when the storm began and had never gotback. At first we were not much alarmed. Jims has had several bouts ofcroup and Susan and Morgan and I have always brought him throughwithout much trouble. But it wasn't very long before we were dreadfullyalarmed. 

"'I never saw croup like this before, ' said Susan. 

"As for me, I knew, when it was too late, what kind of croup it was. Iknew it was not the ordinary croup--'false croup' as doctors callit--but the 'true croup'--and I knew that it was a deadly and dangerousthing. And father was away and there was no doctor nearer thanLowbridge--and we could not 'phone and neither horse nor man could getthrough the drifts that night. 

"Gallant little Jims put up a good fight for his life, --Susan and Itried every remedy we could think of or find in father's books, but hecontinued to grow worse. It was heart-rending to see and hear him. Hegasped so horribly for breath--the poor little soul--and his faceturned a dreadful bluish colour and had such an agonized expression, and he kept struggling with his little hands, as if he were appealingto us to help him somehow. I found myself thinking that the boys whohad been gassed at the front must have looked like that, and thethought haunted me amid all my dread and misery over Jims. And all thetime the fatal membrane in his wee throat grew and thickened and hecouldn't get it up. 

"Oh, I was just wild! I never realized how dear Jims was to me untilthat moment. And I felt so utterly helpless. "

"And then Susan gave up. 'We cannot save him! Oh, if your father washere--look at him, the poor little fellow! I know not what to do. '

"I looked at Jims and I thought he was dying. Susan was holding him upin his crib to give him a better chance for breath, but it didn't seemas if he could breathe at all. My little war-baby, with his dear waysand sweet roguish face, was choking to death before my very eyes, and Icouldn't help him. I threw down the hot poultice I had ready indespair. Of what use was it? Jims was dying, and it was my fault--Ihadn't been careful enough!

"Just then--at eleven o'clock at night--the door bell rang. Such aring--it pealed all over the house above the roar of the storm. Susancouldn't go--she dared not lay Jims down--so I rushed downstairs. Inthe hall I paused just a minute--I was suddenly overcome by an absurddread. I thought of a weird story Gertrude had told me once. An aunt ofhers was alone in a house one night with her sick husband. She heard aknock at the door. And when she went and opened it there was nothingthere--nothing that could be seen, at least. But when she opened thedoor a deadly cold wind blew in and seemed to sweep past her right upthe stairs, although it was a calm, warm summer night outside. Immediately she heard a cry. She ran upstairs--and her husband wasdead. And she always believed, so Gertrude said, that when she openedthat door she let Death in. 

"It was so ridiculous of me to feel so frightened. But I was distractedand worn out, and I simply felt for a moment that I dared not open thedoor--that death was waiting outside. Then I remembered that I had notime to waste--must not be so foolish--I sprang forward and opened thedoor. 

"Certainly a cold wind did blow in and filled the hall with a whirl ofsnow. But there on the threshold stood a form of flesh and blood--MaryVance, coated from head to foot with snow--and she brought Life, notDeath, with her, though I didn't know that then. I just stared at her. 

"'I haven't been turned out, ' grinned Mary, as she stepped in and shutthe door. 'I came up to Carter Flagg's two days ago and I've beenstormed-stayed there ever since. But old Abbie Flagg got on my nervesat last, and tonight I just made up my mind to come up here. I thoughtI could wade this far, but I can tell you it was as much as a bargain. Once I thought I was stuck for keeps. Ain't it an awful night?'

"I came to myself and knew I must hurry upstairs. I explained asquickly as I could to Mary, and left her trying to brush the snow off. Upstairs I found that Jims was over that paroxysm, but almost as soonas I got back to the room he was in the grip of another. I couldn't doanything but moan and cry--oh, how ashamed I am when I think of it; andyet what could I do--we had tried everything we knew--and then all atonce I heard Mary Vance saying loudly behind me, 'Why, that child isdying!'

"I whirled around. Didn't I know he was dying--my little Jims! I couldhave thrown Mary Vance out of the door or the window--anywhere--at thatmoment. There she stood, cool and composed, looking down at my baby, with those, weird white eyes of hers, as she might look at a chokingkitten. I had always disliked Mary Vance--and just then I hated her. 

"'We have tried everything, ' said poor Susan dully. 'It is not ordinarycroup. '

"'No, it's the dipthery croup, ' said Mary briskly, snatching up anapron. 'And there's mighty little time to lose--but I know what to do. When I lived over-harbour with Mrs. Wiley, years ago, Will Crawford'skid died of dipthery croup, in spite of two doctors. And when old AuntChristina MacAllister heard of it--she was the one brought me roundwhen I nearly died of pneumonia you know--she was a wonder--no doctorwas a patch on her--they don't hatch her breed of cats nowadays, let metell you--she said she could have saved him with her grandmother'sremedy if she'd been there. She told Mrs. Wiley what it was and I'venever forgot it. I've the greatest memory ever--a thing just lies inthe back of my head till the time comes to use it. Got any sulphur inthe house, Susan?'

"Yes, we had sulphur. Susan went down with Mary to get it, and I heldJims. I hadn't any hope--not the least. Mary Vance might brag as sheliked--she was always bragging--but I didn't believe any grandmother'sremedy could save Jims now. Presently Mary came back. She had tied apiece of thick flannel over her mouth and nose, and she carried Susan'sold tin chip pan, half full of burning coals. 

"'You watch me, ' she said boastfully. 'I've never done this, but it'skill or cure that child is dying anyway. '

"She sprinkled a spoonful of sulphur over the coals; and then shepicked up Jims, turned him over, and held him face downward, right overthose choking, blinding fumes. I don't know why I didn't spring forwardand snatch him away. Susan says it was because it was fore-ordainedthat I shouldn't, and I think she is right, because it did really seemthat I was powerless to move. Susan herself seemed transfixed, watchingMary from the doorway. Jims writhed in those big, firm, capable handsof Mary--oh yes, she is capable all right--and choked and wheezed--andchoked and wheezed--and I felt that he was being tortured to death--andthen all at once, after what seemed to me an hour, though it reallywasn't long, he coughed up the membrane that was killing him. Maryturned him over and laid him back on his bed. He was white as marbleand the tears were pouring out of his brown eyes--but that awful lividlook was gone from his face and he could breathe quite easily. 

"'Wasn't that some trick?' said Mary gaily. 'I hadn't any idea how itwould work, but I just took a chance. I'll smoke his throat out againonce or twice before morning, just to kill all the germs, but you'llsee he'll be all right now. '

"Jims went right to sleep--real sleep, not coma, as I feared at first. Mary 'smoked him, ' as she called it, twice through the night, and atdaylight his throat was perfectly clear and his temperature was almostnormal. When I made sure of that I turned and looked at Mary Vance. Shewas sitting on the lounge laying down the law to Susan on some subjectabout which Susan must have known forty times as much as she did. But Ididn't mind how much law she laid down or how much she bragged. She hada right to brag--she had dared to do what I would never have dared, andhad saved Jims from a horrible death. It didn't matter any more thatshe had once chased me through the Glen with a codfish; it didn'tmatter that she had smeared goose-grease all over my dream of romancethe night of the lighthouse dance; it didn't matter that she thoughtshe knew more than anybody else and always rubbed it in--I would neverdislike Mary Vance again. I went over to her and kissed her. 

"'What's up now?' she said. 

"'Nothing--only I'm so grateful to you, Mary. '

"'Well, I think you ought to be, that's a fact. You two would have letthat baby die on your hands if I hadn't happened along, ' said Mary, just beaming with complacency. She got Susan and me a tip-top breakfastand made us eat it, and 'bossed the life out of us, ' as Susan says, fortwo days, until the roads were opened so that she could get home. Jimswas almost well by that time, and father turned up. He heard our talewithout saying much. Father is rather scornful generally about what hecalls 'old wives' remedies. ' He laughed a little and said, 'After this, Mary Vance will expect me to call her in for consultation in all myserious cases. '

"So Christmas was not so hard as I expected it to be; and now the NewYear is coming--and we are still hoping for the 'Big Push' that willend the war--and Little Dog Monday is getting stiff and rheumatic fromhis cold vigils, but still he 'carries on, ' and Shirley continues toread the exploits of the aces. Oh, nineteen-seventeen, what will youbring?"

CHAPTER XXV

SHIRLEY GOES

"No, Woodrow, there will be no peace without victory, " said Susan, sticking her knitting needle viciously through President Wilson's namein the newspaper column. "We Canadians mean to have peace and victory, too. You, if it pleases you, Woodrow, can have the peace without thevictory"--and Susan stalked off to bed with the comfortableconsciousness of having got the better of the argument with thePresident. But a few days later she rushed to Mrs. Blythe in red-hotexcitement. 

"Mrs. Dr. Dear, what do you think? A 'phone message has just comethrough from Charlottetown that Woodrow Wilson has sent that Germanambassador man to the right about at last. They tell me that means war. So I begin to think that Woodrow's heart is in the right place afterall, wherever his head may be, and I am going to commandeer a littlesugar and celebrate the occasion with some fudge, despite the howls ofthe Food Board. I thought that submarine business would bring things toa crisis. I told Cousin Sophia so when she said it was the beginning ofthe end for the Allies. "

"Don't let the doctor hear of the fudge, Susan, " said Anne, with asmile. "You know he has laid down very strict rules for us along thelines of economy the government has asked for. "

"Yes, Mrs. Dr. Dear, and a man should be master in his own household, and his women folk should bow to his decrees. I flatter myself that Iam becoming quite efficient in economizing"--Susan had taken to usingcertain German terms with killing effect--"but one can exercise alittle gumption on the quiet now and then. Shirley was wishing for someof my fudge the other day--the Susan brand, as he called it--and I said'The first victory there is to celebrate I shall make you some. ' Iconsider this news quite equal to a victory, and what the doctor doesnot know will never grieve him. I take the whole responsibility, Mrs. Dr. Dear, so do not you vex your conscience. "

Susan spoiled Shirley shamelessly that winter. He came home fromQueen's every week-end, and Susan had all his favourite dishes for him, in so far as she could evade or wheedle the doctor, and waited on himhand and foot. Though she talked war constantly to everyone else shenever mentioned it to him or before him, but she watched him like a catwatching a mouse; and when the German retreat from the Bapaume salientbegan and continued, Susan's exultation was linked up with somethingdeeper than anything she expressed. Surely the end was in sight--wouldcome now before--anyone else--could go. 

"Things are coming our way at last. We have got the Germans on therun, " she boasted. "The United States has declared war at last, as Ialways believed they would, in spite of Woodrow's gift for letterwriting, and you will see they will go into it with a vim since Iunderstand that is their habit, when they do start. And we have got theGermans on the run, too. "

"The States mean well, " moaned Cousin Sophia, "but all the vim in theworld cannot put them on the fighting line this spring, and the Allieswill be finished before that. The Germans are just luring them on. Thatman Simonds says their retreat has put the Allies in a hole. "

"That man Simonds has said more than he will ever live to make good, "retorted Susan. "I do not worry myself about his opinion as long asLloyd George is Premier of England. He will not be bamboozled and thatyou may tie to. Things look good to me. The U. S. Is in the war, and wehave got Kut and Bagdad back--and I would not be surprised to see theAllies in Berlin by June--and the Russians, too, since they have gotrid of the Czar. That, in my opinion was a good piece of work. "

"Time will show if it is, " said Cousin Sophia, who would have been veryindignant if anyone had told her that she would rather see Susan put toshame as a seer, than a successful overthrow of tyranny, or even themarch of the Allies down Unter den Linden. But then the woes of theRussian people were quite unknown to Cousin Sophia, while thisaggravating, optimistic Susan was an ever-present thorn in her side. 

Just at that moment Shirley was sitting on the edge of the table in theliving-room, swinging his legs--a brown, ruddy, wholesome lad, from topto toe, every inch of him--and saying coolly, "Mother and dad, I waseighteen last Monday. Don't you think it's about time I joined up?"

The pale mother looked at him. 

"Two of my sons have gone and one will never return. Must I give youtoo, Shirley?"

The age-old cry--"Joseph is not and Simeon is not; and ye will takeBenjamin away. " How the mothers of the Great War echoed the oldPatriarch's moan of so many centuries agone!

"You wouldn't have me a slacker, mother? I can get into theflying-corps. What say, dad?"

The doctor's hands were not quite steady as he folded up the powders hewas concocting for Abbie Flagg's rheumatism. He had known this momentwas coming, yet he was not altogether prepared for it. He answeredslowly, "I won't try to hold you back from what you believe to be yourduty. But you must not go unless your mother says you may. "

Shirley said nothing more. He was not a lad of many words. Anne did notsay anything more just then, either. She was thinking of little Joyce'sgrave in the old burying-ground over-harbour--little Joyce who wouldhave been a woman now, had she lived--of the white cross in France andthe splendid grey eyes of the little boy who had been taught his firstlessons of duty and loyalty at her knee--of Jem in the terribletrenches--of Nan and Di and Rilla, waiting--waiting--waiting, while thegolden years of youth passed by--and she wondered if she could bear anymore. She thought not; surely she had given enough. 

Yet that night she told Shirley that he might go. 

They did not tell Susan right away. She did not know it until, a fewdays later, Shirley presented himself in her kitchen in his aviationuniform. Susan didn't make half the fuss she had made when Jem andWalter had gone. She said stonily, "So they're going to take you, too. "

"Take me? No. I'm going, Susan--got to. "

Susan sat down by the table, folded her knotted old hands, that hadgrown warped and twisted working for the Ingleside children to stilltheir shaking, and said:

"Yes, you must go. I did not see once why such things must be, but Ican see now. "

"You're a brick, Susan, " said Shirley. He was relieved that she took itso coolly--he had been a little afraid, with a boy's horror of "ascene. " He went out whistling gaily; but half an hour later, when paleAnne Blythe came in, Susan was still sitting there. 

"Mrs. Dr. Dear, " said Susan, making an admission she would once havedied rather than make, "I feel very old. Jem and Walter were yours butShirley is mine. And I cannot bear to think of him flying--his machinecrashing down--the life crushed out of his body--the dear little body Inursed and cuddled when he was a wee baby. "

"Susan--don't, " cried Anne. 

"Oh, Mrs. Dr. Dear, I beg your pardon. I ought not to have saidanything like that out loud. I sometimes forget that I resolved to be aheroine. This--this has shaken me a little. But I will not forgetmyself again. Only if things do not go as smoothly in the kitchen for afew days I hope you will make due allowance for me. At least, " saidpoor Susan, forcing a grim smile in a desperate effort to recover loststanding, "at least flying is a clean job. He will not get so dirty andmessed up as he would in the trenches, and that is well, for he hasalways been a tidy child. "

So Shirley went--not radiantly, as to a high adventure, like Jem, notin a white flame of sacrifice, like Walter, but in a cool, business-like mood, as of one doing something, rather dirty anddisagreeable, that had just got to be done. He kissed Susan for thefirst time since he was five years old, and said, "Good-bye, Susan--mother Susan. "

"My little brown boy--my little brown boy, " said Susan. "I wonder, " shethought bitterly, as she looked at the doctor's sorrowful face, "if youremember how you spanked him once when he was a baby. I am thankful Ihave nothing like that on my conscience now. "

The doctor did not remember the old discipline. But before he put onhis hat to go out on his round of calls he stood for a moment in thegreat silent living-room that had once been full of children's laughter. 

"Our last son--our last son, " he said aloud. "A good, sturdy, sensiblelad, too. Always reminded me of my father. I suppose I ought to beproud that he wanted to go--I was proud when Jem went--even when Walterwent--but 'our house is left us desolate. '"

"I have been thinking, doctor, " old Sandy of the Upper Glen said to himthat afternoon, "that your house will be seeming very big the day. "

Highland Sandy's quaint phrase struck the doctor as perfectlyexpressive. Ingleside did seem very big and empty that night. YetShirley had been away all winter except for week-ends, and had alwaysbeen a quiet fellow even when home. Was it because he had been the onlyone left that his going seemed to leave such a huge blank--that everyroom seemed vacant and deserted--that the very trees on the lawn seemedto be trying to comfort each other with caresses of freshly-buddingboughs for the loss of the last of the little lads who had romped underthem in childhood?

Susan worked very hard all day and late into the night. When she hadwound the kitchen clock and put Dr. Jekyll out, none too gently, shestood for a little while on the doorstep, looking down the Glen, whichlay tranced in faint, silvery light from a sinking young moon. ButSusan did not see the familiar hills and harbour. She was looking atthe aviation camp in Kingsport where Shirley was that night. 

"He called me 'Mother Susan, '" she was thinking. "Well, all our menfolk have gone now--Jem and Walter and Shirley and Jerry and Carl. Andnone of them had to be driven to it. So we have a right to be proud. But pride--" Susan sighed bitterly--"pride is cold company and thatthere is no gainsaying. "

The moon sank lower into a black cloud in the west, the Glen went outin an eclipse of sudden shadow--and thousands of miles away theCanadian boys in khaki--the living and the dead--were in possession ofVimy Ridge. 

Vimy Ridge is a name written in crimson and gold on the Canadian annalsof the Great War. "The British couldn't take it and the French couldn'ttake it, " said a German prisoner to his captors, "but you Canadians aresuch fools that you don't know when a place can't be taken!"

So the "fools" took it--and paid the price. 

Jerry Meredith was seriously wounded at Vimy Ridge--shot in the back, the telegram said. 

"Poor Nan, " said Mrs. Blythe, when the news came. She thought of herown happy girlhood at old Green Gables. There had been no tragedy likethis in it. How the girls of to-day had to suffer! When Nan came homefrom Redmond two weeks later her face showed what those weeks had meantto her. John Meredith, too, seemed to have grown old suddenly in them. Faith did not come home; she was on her way across the Atlantic as aV. A. D. Di had tried to wring from her father consent to her going also, but had been told that for her mother's sake it could not be given. SoDi, after a flying visit home, went back to her Red Cross work inKingsport. 

The mayflowers bloomed in the secret nooks of Rainbow Valley. Rilla waswatching for them. Jem had once taken his mother the earliestmayflowers; Walter brought them to her when Jem was gone; last springShirley had sought them out for her; now, Rilla thought she must takethe boys' place in this. But before she had discovered any, BruceMeredith came to Ingleside one twilight with his hands full of delicatepink sprays. He stalked up the steps of the veranda and laid them onMrs. Blythe's lap. 

"Because Shirley isn't here to bring them, " he said in his funny, shy, blunt way. 

"And you thought of this, you darling, " said Anne, her lips quivering, as she looked at the stocky, black-browed little chap, standing beforeher, with his hands thrust into his pockets. 

"I wrote Jem to-day and told him not to worry 'bout you not gettingyour mayflowers, " said Bruce seriously, "'cause I'd see to that. And Itold him I would be ten pretty soon now, so it won't be very longbefore I'll be eighteen, and then I'll go to help him fight, and maybelet him come home for a rest while I took his place. I wrote Jerry, too. Jerry's getting better, you know. "

"Is he? Have you had any good news about him?"

"Yes. Mother had a letter to-day, and it said he was out of danger. "

"Oh, thank God, " murmured Mrs. Blythe, in a half-whisper. 

Bruce looked at her curiously. 

"That is what father said when mother told him. But when l said it theother day when I found out Mr. Mead's dog hadn't hurt my kitten--Ithought he had shooken it to death, you know--father looked awfulsolemn and said I must never say that again about a kitten. But Icouldn't understand why, Mrs. Blythe. I felt awful thankful, and itmust have been God that saved Stripey, because that Mead dog had'normous jaws, and oh, how it shook poor Stripey. And so why couldn't Ithank Him? 'Course, " added Bruce reminiscently, "maybe I said it tooloud--'cause I was awful glad and excited when I found Stripey was allright. I 'most shouted it, Mrs. Blythe. Maybe if I'd said it sort ofwhispery like you and father it would have been all right. Do you know, Mrs. Blythe"--Bruce dropped to a "whispery" tone, edging a littlenearer to Anne--"what I would like to do to the Kaiser if I could?"

"What would you like to do, laddie?"

"Norman Reese said in school to-day that he would like to tie theKaiser to a tree and set cross dogs to worrying him, " said Brucegravely. "And Emily Flagg said she would like to put him in a cage andpoke sharp things into him. And they all said things like that. ButMrs. Blythe"--Bruce took a little square paw out of his pocket and putit earnestly on Anne's knee--"I would like to turn the Kaiser into agood man--a very good man--all at once if I could. That is what I woulddo. Don't you think, Mrs. Blythe, that would be the very worstestpunishment of all?"

"Bless the child, " said Susan, "how do you make out that would be anykind of a punishment for that wicked fiend?"

"Don't you see, " said Bruce, looking levelly at Susan, out of hisblackly blue eyes, "if he was turned into a good man he wouldunderstand how dreadful the things he has done are, and he would feelso terrible about it that he would be more unhappy and miserable thanhe could ever be in any other way. He would feel just awful--and hewould go on feeling like that forever. Yes"--Bruce clenched his handsand nodded his head emphatically, "yes, I would make the Kaiser a goodman--that is what I would do--it would serve him 'zackly right. "

CHAPTER XXVI

SUSAN HAS A PROPOSAL OF MARRIAGE

An aeroplane was flying over Glen St. Mary, like a great bird poisedagainst the western sky--a sky so clear and of such a pale, silveryyellow, that it gave an impression of a vast, wind-freshened space offreedom. The little group on the Ingleside lawn looked up at it withfascinated eyes, although it was by no means an unusual thing to see anoccasional hovering plane that summer. Susan was always intenselyexcited. Who knew but that it might be Shirley away up there in theclouds, flying over to the Island from Kingsport? But Shirley had goneoverseas now, so Susan was not so keenly interested in this particularaeroplane and its pilot. Nevertheless, she looked at it with awe. 

"I wonder, Mrs. Dr. Dear, " she said solemnly, "what the old folks downthere in the graveyard would think if they could rise out of theirgraves for one moment and behold that sight. I am sure my father woulddisapprove of it, for he was a man who did not believe in new-fangledideas of any sort. He always cut his grain with a reaping hook to theday of his death. A mower he would not have. What was good enough forhis father was good enough for him, he used to say. I hope it is notunfilial to say that I think he was wrong in that point of view, but Iam not sure I go so far as to approve of aeroplanes, though they may bea military necessity. If the Almighty had meant us to fly he would haveprovided us with wings. Since He did not it is plain He meant us tostick to the solid earth. At any rate, you will never see me, Mrs. Dr. Dear, cavorting through the sky in an aeroplane. "

"But you won't refuse to cavort a bit in father's new automobile whenit comes, will you, Susan?" teased Rilla. 

"I do not expect to trust my old bones in automobiles, either, "retorted Susan. "But I do not look upon them as some narrow-mindedpeople do. Whiskers-on-the-moon says the Government should be turnedout of office for permitting them to run on the Island at all. He foamsat the mouth, they tell me, when he sees one. The other day he saw onecoming along that narrow side-road by his wheatfield, and Whiskersbounded over the fence and stood right in the middle of the road, withhis pitchfork. The man in the machine was an agent of some kind, andWhiskers hates agents as much as he hates automobiles. He made the carcome to a halt, because there was not room to pass him on either side, and the agent could not actually run over him. Then he raised hispitchfork and shouted, 'Get out of this with your devil-machine or Iwill run this pitchfork clean through you. ' And Mrs. Dr. Dear, if youwill believe me, that poor agent had to back his car clean out to theLowbridge road, nearly a mile, Whiskers following him every step, shaking his pitchfork and bellowing insults. Now, Mrs. Dr. Dear, I callsuch conduct unreasonable; but all the same, " added Susan, with a sigh, "what with aeroplanes and automobiles and all the rest of it, thisIsland is not what it used to be. "

The aeroplane soared and dipped and circled, and soared again, until itbecame a mere speck far over the sunset hills. 

"'With the majesty of pinion Which the Theban eagles bear Sailing withsupreme dominion Through the azure fields of air. '"

quoted Anne Blythe dreamily. 

"I wonder, " said Miss Oliver, "if humanity will be any happier becauseof aeroplanes. It seems to me that the sum of human happiness remainsmuch the same from age to age, no matter how it may vary indistribution, and that all the 'many inventions' neither lessen norincrease it. "

"After all, the 'kingdom of heaven is within you, '" said Mr. Meredith, gazing after the vanishing speck which symbolized man's latest victoryin a world-old struggle. "It does not depend on material achievementsand triumphs. "

"Nevertheless, an aeroplane is a fascinating thing, " said the doctor. "It has always been one of humanity's favourite dreams--the dream offlying. Dream after dream comes true--or rather is made true bypersevering effort. I should like to have a flight in an aeroplanemyself. "

"Shirley wrote me that he was dreadfully disappointed in his firstflight, " said Rilla. "He had expected to experience the sensation ofsoaring up from the earth like a bird--and instead he just had thefeeling that he wasn't moving at all, but that the earth was droppingaway under him. And the first time he went up alone he suddenly feltterribly homesick. He had never felt like that before; but all at once, he said, he felt as if he were adrift in space--and he had a wilddesire to get back home to the old planet and the companionship offellow creatures. He soon got over that feeling, but he says his firstflight alone was a nightmare to him because of that dreadful sensationof ghastly loneliness. "

The aeroplane disappeared. The doctor threw back his head with a sigh. 

"When I have watched one of those bird-men out of sight I come back toearth with an odd feeling of being merely a crawling insect. Anne, " hesaid, turning to his wife, "do you remember the first time I took youfor a buggy ride in Avonlea--that night we went to the Carmody concert, the first fall you taught in Avonlea? I had out little black mare withthe white star on her forehead, and a shining brand-new buggy--and Iwas the proudest fellow in the world, barring none. I suppose ourgrandson will be taking his sweetheart out quite casually for anevening 'fly' in his aeroplane. "

"An aeroplane won't be as nice as little Silverspot was, " said Anne. "Amachine is simply a machine--but Silverspot, why she was a personality, Gilbert. A drive behind her had something in it that not even a flightamong sunset clouds could have. No, I don't envy my grandson'ssweetheart, after all. Mr. Meredith is right. 'The kingdom ofHeaven'--and of love--and of happiness--doesn't depend on externals. "

"Besides, " said the doctor gravely, "our said grandson will have togive most of his attention to the aeroplane--he won't be able to letthe reins lie on its back while he gazes into his lady's eyes. And Ihave an awful suspicion that you can't run an aeroplane with one arm. No"--the doctor shook his head--"I believe I'd still prefer Silverspotafter all. "

The Russian line broke again that summer and Susan said bitterly thatshe had expected it ever since Kerensky had gone and got married. 

"Far be it from me to decry the holy state of matrimony, Mrs. Dr. Dear, but I felt that when a man was running a revolution he had his handsfull and should have postponed marriage until a more fitting season. The Russians are done for this time and there would be no sense inshutting our eyes to the fact. But have you seen Woodrow Wilson's replyto the Pope's peace proposals? It is magnificent. I really could nothave expressed the rights of the matter better myself. I feel that Ican forgive Wilson everything for it. He knows the meaning of words andthat you may tie to. Speaking of meanings, have you heard the lateststory about Whiskers-on-the-moon, Mrs. Dr. Dear? It seems he was overat the Lowbridge Road school the other day and took a notion to examinethe fourth class in spelling. They have the summer term there yet, youknow, with the spring and fall vacations, being rather backward peopleon that road. My niece, Ella Baker, goes to that school and she it waswho told me the story. The teacher was not feeling well, having adreadful headache, and she went out to get a little fresh air while Mr. Pryor was examining the class. The children got along all right withthe spelling but when Whiskers began to question them about themeanings of the words they were all at sea, because they had notlearned them. Ella and the other big scholars felt terrible over it. They love their teacher so, and it seems Mr. Pryor's brother, AbelPryor, who is trustee of that school, is against her and has beentrying to turn the other trustees over to his way of thinking. And Ellaand the rest were afraid that if the fourth class couldn't tellWhiskers the meanings of the words he would think the teacher was nogood and tell Abel so, and Abel would have a fine handle. But littleSandy Logan saved the situation. He is a Home boy, but he is as smartas a steel trap, and he sized up Whiskers-on-the-moon right off. 'Whatdoes "anatomy" mean?' Whiskers demanded. 'A pain in your stomach, 'Sandy replied, quick as a flash and never batting an eyelid. Whiskers-on-the-moon is a very ignorant man, Mrs. Dr. Dear; he didn'tknow the meaning of the words himself, and he said 'Very good--verygood. ' The class caught right on--at least three or four of thebrighter ones did--and they kept up the fun. Jean Blane said that'acoustic' meant 'a religious squabble, ' and Muriel Baker said that an'agnostic' was 'a man who had indigestion, ' and Jim Carter said that'acerbity' meant that 'you ate nothing but vegetable food, ' and so onall down the list. Whiskers swallowed it all, and kept saying 'Verygood--very good' until Ella thought that die she would trying to keep astraight face. When the teacher came in, Whiskers complimented her onthe splendid understanding the children had of their lesson and said hemeant to tell the trustees what a jewel they had. It was 'veryunusual, ' he said, to find a fourth class who could answer up so promptwhen it came to explaining what words meant. He went off beaming. ButElla told me this as a great secret, Mrs. Dr. Dear, and we must keep itas such, for the sake of the Lowbridge Road teacher. It would likely bethe ruin of her chances of keeping the school if Whiskers should everfind out how he had been bamboozled. "

Mary Vance came up to Ingleside that same afternoon to tell them thatMiller Douglas, who had been wounded when the Canadians took Hill 70, had had to have his leg amputated. The Ingleside folk sympathized withMary, whose zeal and patriotism had taken some time to kindle but nowburned with a glow as steady and bright as any one's. 

"Some folks have been twitting me about having a husband with only oneleg. But, " said Mary, rising to a lofty height, "I would rather Millerwith only one leg than any other man in the world with adozen--unless, " she added as an after-thought, "unless it was LloydGeorge. Well, I must be going. I thought you'd be interested in hearingabout Miller so I ran up from the store, but I must hustle home for Ipromised Luke MacAllister I'd help him build his grain stack thisevening. It's up to us girls to see that the harvest is got in, sincethe boys are so scarce. I've got overalls and I can tell you they'rereal becoming. Mrs. Alec Douglas says they're indecent and shouldn't beallowed, and even Mrs. Elliott kinder looks askance at them. But blessyou, the world moves, and anyhow there's no fun for me like shockingKitty Alec. "

"By the way, father, " said Rilla, "I'm going to take Jack Flagg's placein his father's store for a month. I promised him today that I would, if you didn't object. Then he can help the farmers get the harvest in. I don't think I'd be much use in a harvest myself--though lots of thegirls are--but I can set Jack free while I do his work. Jims isn't muchbother in the daytime now, and I'll always be home at night. "

"Do you think you'll like weighing out sugar and beans, and traffickingin butter and eggs?" said the doctor, twinkling. 

"Probably not. That isn't the question. It's just one way of doing mybit. " So Rilla went behind Mr. Flagg's counter for a month; and Susanwent into Albert Crawford's oat-fields. 

"I am as good as any of them yet, " she said proudly. "Not a man of themcan beat me when it comes to building a stack. When I offered to helpAlbert looked doubtful. 'I am afraid the work will be too hard foryou, ' he said. 'Try me for a day and see, ' said I. 'I will do mydarnedest. '"

None of the Ingleside folks spoke for just a moment. Their silencemeant that they thought Susan's pluck in "working out" quite wonderful. But Susan mistook their meaning and her sun-burned face grew red. 

"This habit of swearing seems to be growing on me, Mrs. Dr. Dear, " shesaid apologetically. "To think that I should be acquiring it at my age!It is such a dreadful example to the young girls. I am of the opinionit comes of reading the newspapers so much. They are so full ofprofanity and they do not spell it with stars either, as used to bedone in my young days. This war is demoralizing everybody. "

Susan, standing on a load of grain, her grey hair whipping in thebreeze and her skirt kilted up to her knees for safety andconvenience--no overalls for Susan, if you please--neither a beautifulnor a romantic figure; but the spirit that animated her gaunt arms wasthe self-same one that captured Vimy Ridge and held the German legionsback from Verdun. 

It is not the least likely, however, that this consideration was theone which appealed most strongly to Mr. Pryor when he drove past oneafternoon and saw Susan pitching sheaves gamely. 

"Smart woman that, " he reflected. "Worth two of many a younger one yet. I might do worse--I might do worse. If Milgrave comes home alive I'lllose Miranda and hired housekeepers cost more than a wife and areliable to leave a man in the lurch any time. I'll think it over. "

A week later Mrs. Blythe, coming up from the village late in theafternoon, paused at the gate of Ingleside in an amazement whichtemporarily bereft her of the power of motion. An extraordinary sightmet her eyes. Round the end of the kitchen burst Mr. Pryor, running asstout, pompous Mr. Pryor had not run in years, with terror imprinted onevery lineament--a terror quite justifiable, for behind him, like anavenging fate, came Susan, with a huge, smoking iron pot grasped in herhands, and an expression in her eye that boded ill to the object of herindignation, if she should overtake him. Pursuer and pursued toreacross the lawn. Mr. Pryor reached the gate a few feet ahead of Susan, wrenched it open, and fled down the road, without a glance at thetransfixed lady of Ingleside. 

"Susan, " gasped Anne. 

Susan halted in her mad career, set down her pot, and shook her fistafter Mr. Pryor, who had not ceased to run, evidently believing thatSusan was still full cry after him. 

"Susan, what does this mean?" demanded Anne, a little severely. 

"You may well ask that, Mrs. Dr. Dear, " Susan replied wrathfully. "Ihave not been so upset in years. That--that--that pacifist has actuallyhad the audacity to come up here and, in my own kitchen, to ask me tomarry him. HIM!"

Anne choked back a laugh. 

"But--Susan! Couldn't you have found a--well, a less spectacular methodof refusing him? Think what a gossip this would have made if anyone hadbeen going past and had seen such a performance. "

"Indeed, Mrs. Dr. Dear, you are quite right. I did not think of itbecause I was quite past thinking rationally. I was just clean mad. Come in the house and I will tell you all about it. "

Susan picked up her pot and marched into the kitchen, still tremblingwith wrathful excitement. She set her pot on the stove with a viciousthud. "Wait a moment until I open all the windows to air this kitchenwell, Mrs. Dr. Dear. There, that is better. And I must wash my hands, too, because I shook hands with Whiskers-on-the-moon when he camein--not that I wanted to, but when he stuck out his fat, oily hand Idid not know just what else to do at the moment. I had just finished myafternoon cleaning and thanks be, everything was shining and spotless;and thought I 'now that dye is boiling and I will get my rug rags andhave them nicely out of the way before supper. '

"Just then a shadow fell over the floor and looking up I sawWhiskers-on-the-moon, standing in the doorway, dressed up and lookingas if he had just been starched and ironed. I shook hands with him, asaforesaid, Mrs. Dr. Dear, and told him you and the doctor were bothaway. But he said, "I have come to see you, Miss Baker. '

"I asked him to sit down, for the sake of my own manners, and then Istood there right in the middle of the floor and gazed at him ascontemptuously as I could. In spite of his brazen assurance this seemedto rattle him a little; but he began trying to look sentimental at meout of his little piggy eyes, and all at once an awful suspicionflashed into my mind. Something told me, Mrs. Dr. Dear, that I wasabout to receive my first proposal. I have always thought that I wouldlike to have just one offer of marriage to reject, so that I might beable to look other women in the face, but you will not hear me braggingof this. I consider it an insult and if I could have thought of any wayof preventing it I would. But just then, Mrs. Dr. Dear, you will see Iwas at a disadvantage, being taken so completely by surprise. Some men, I am told, consider a little preliminary courting the proper thingbefore a proposal, if only to give fair warning of their intentions;but Whiskers-on-the-moon probably thought it was any port in a stormfor me and that I would jump at him. Well, he is undeceived--yes, he isundeceived, Mrs. Dr. Dear. I wonder if he has stopped running yet. "

"I understand that you don't feel flattered, Susan. But couldn't youhave refused him a little more delicately than by chasing him off thepremises in such a fashion?"

"Well, maybe I might have, Mrs. Dr. Dear, and I intended to, but oneremark he made aggravated me beyond my powers of endurance. If it hadnot been for that I would not have chased him with my dye-pot. I willtell you the whole interview. Whiskers sat down, as I have said, andright beside him on another chair Doc was lying. The animal waspretending to be asleep but I knew very well he was not, for he hasbeen Hyde all day and Hyde never sleeps. By the way, Mrs. Dr. Dear, have you noticed that that cat is far oftener Hyde than Jekyll now? Themore victories Germany wins the Hyder he becomes. I leave you to drawyour own conclusions from that. I suppose Whiskers thought he mightcurry favour with me by praising the creature, little dreaming what myreal sentiments towards it were, so he stuck out his pudgy hand andstroked Mr. Hyde's back. 'What a nice cat, ' he said. The nice cat flewat him and bit him. Then it gave a fearful yowl, and bounded out of thedoor. Whiskers looked after it quite amazed. 'That is a queer kind of avarmint, ' he said. I agreed with him on that point, but I was not goingto let him see it. Besides, what business had he to call our cat avarmint? 'It may be a varmint or it may not, ' I said, 'but it knows thedifference between a Canadian and a Hun. ' You would have thought, wouldyou not, Mrs. Dr. Dear, that a hint like that would have been enoughfor him! But it went no deeper than his skin. I saw him settling backquite comfortable, as if for a good talk, and thought I, 'If there isanything coming it may as well come soon and be done with, for with allthese rags to dye before supper I have no time to waste in flirting, 'so I spoke right out. 'If you have anything particular to discuss withme, Mr. Pryor, I would feel obliged if you would mention it withoutloss of time, because I am very busy this afternoon. ' He fairly beamedat me out of that circle of red whisker, and said, 'You are abusiness-like woman and I agree with you. There is no use in wastingtime beating around the bush. I came up here today to ask you to marryme. ' So there it was, Mrs. Dr. Dear. I had a proposal at last, afterwaiting sixty-four years for one. 

"I just glared at that presumptuous creature and I said, 'I would notmarry you if you were the last man on earth, Josiah Pryor. So there youhave my answer and you can take it away forthwith. ' You never saw a manso taken aback as he was, Mrs. Dr. Dear. He was so flabbergasted thathe just blurted out the truth. 'Why, I thought you'd be only too gladto get a chance to be married, ' he said. That was when I lost my head, Mrs. Dr. Dear. Do you think I had a good excuse, when a Hun and apacifist made such an insulting remark to me? 'Go, ' I thundered, and Ijust caught up that iron pot. I could see that he thought I hadsuddenly gone insane, and I suppose he considered an iron pot full ofboiling dye was a dangerous weapon in the hands of a lunatic. At anyrate he went, and stood not upon the order of his going, as you saw foryourself. And I do not think we will see him back here proposing to usagain in a hurry. No, I think he has learned that there is at least onesingle woman in Glen St. Mary who has no hankering to become Mrs. Whiskers-on-the-moon. "

CHAPTER XXVII

WAITING

Ingleside, 1st November 1917

"It is November--and the Glen is all grey and brown, except where theLombardy poplars stand up here and there like great golden torches inthe sombre landscape, although every other tree has shed its leaves. Ithas been very hard to keep our courage alight of late. The Caporettodisaster is a dreadful thing and not even Susan can extract muchconsolation out of the present state of affairs. The rest of us don'ttry. Gertrude keeps saying desperately, 'They must not get Venice--theymust not get Venice, ' as if by saying it often enough she can preventthem. But what is to prevent them from getting Venice I cannot see. Yet, as Susan fails not to point out, there was seemingly nothing toprevent them from getting to Paris in 1914, yet they did not get it, and she affirms they shall not get Venice either. Oh, how I hope andpray they will not--Venice the beautiful Queen of the Adriatic. Although I've never seen it I feel about it just as Byron did--I'vealways loved it--it has always been to me 'a fairy city of the heart. 'Perhaps I caught my love of it from Walter, who worshipped it. It wasalways one of his dreams to see Venice. I remember we plannedonce--down in Rainbow Valley one evening just before the war brokeout--that some time we would go together to see it and float in agondola through its moonlit streets. 

"Every fall since the war began there has been some terrible blow toour troops--Antwerp in 1914, Serbia in 1915; last fall, Rumania, andnow Italy, the worst of all. I think I would give up in despair if itwere not for what Walter said in his dear last letter--that 'the deadas well as the living were fighting on our side and such an army cannotbe defeated. ' No it cannot. We will win in the end. I will not doubt itfor one moment. To let myself doubt would be to 'break faith. '

"We have all been campaigning furiously of late for the new VictoryLoan. We Junior Reds canvassed diligently and landed several tough oldcustomers who had at first flatly refused to invest. I--even I--tackledWhiskers-on-the-moon. I expected a bad time and a refusal. But to myamazement he was quite agreeable and promised on the spot to take athousand dollar bond. He may be a pacifist, but he knows a goodinvestment when it is handed out to him. Five and a half per cent isfinve and a half per cent, even when a militaristic government pays it. 

"Father, to tease Susan, says it was her speech at the Victory LoanCampaign meeting that converted Mr. Pryor. I don't think that at alllikely, since Mr. Pryor has been publicly very bitter against Susanever since her quite unmistakable rejection of his lover-like advances. But Susan did make a speech--and the best one made at the meeting, too. It was the first time she ever did such a thing and she vows it will bethe last. Everybody in the Glen was at the meeting, and quite a numberof speeches were made, but somehow things were a little flat and noespecial enthusiasm could be worked up. Susan was quite dismayed at thelack of zeal, because she had been burningly anxious that the Islandshould go over the top in regard to its quota. She kept whisperingviciously to Gertrude and me that there was 'no ginger' in thespeeches; and when nobody went forward to subscribe to the loan at theclose Susan 'lost her head. ' At least, that is how she describes itherself. She bounded to her feet, her face grim and set under herbonnet--Susan is the only woman in Glen St. Mary who still wears abonnet--and said sarcastically and loudly, 'No doubt it is much cheaperto talk patriotism than it is to pay for it. And we are asking charity, of course--we are asking you to lend us your money for nothing! Nodoubt the Kaiser will feel quite downcast when he hears of thismeeting!"

"Susan has an unshaken belief that the Kaiser's spies--presumablyrepresented by Mr. Pryor--promptly inform him of every happening in ourGlen. 

"Norman Douglas shouted out 'Hear! Hear!' and some boy at the backsaid, 'What about Lloyd George?' in a tone Susan didn't like. LloydGeorge is her pet hero, now that Kitchener is gone. 

"'I stand behind Lloyd George every time, ' retorted Susan. 

"'I suppose that will hearten him up greatly, ' said Warren Mead, withone of his disagreeable 'haw-haws. '

"Warren's remark was spark to powder. Susan just 'sailed in' as sheputs it, and 'said her say. ' She said it remarkably well, too. Therewas no lack of 'ginger' in her speech, anyhow. When Susan is warmed upshe has no mean powers of oratory, and the way she trimmed those mendown was funny and wonderful and effective all at once. She said it wasthe likes of her, millions of her, that did stand behind Lloyd George, and did hearten him up. That was the key-note of her speech. Dear oldSusan! She is a perfect dynamo of patriotism and loyalty and contemptfor slackers of all kinds, and when she let it loose on that audiencein her one grand outburst she electrified it. Susan always vows she isno suffragette, but she gave womanhood its due that night, and sheliterally made those men cringe. When she finished with them they wereready to eat out of her hand. She wound up by ordering them--yes, ordering them--to march up to the platform forthwith and subscribe forVictory Bonds. And after wild applause most of them did it, even WarrenMead. When the total amount subscribed came out in the Charlottetowndailies the next day we found that the Glen led every district on theIsland--and certainly Susan has the credit for it. She, herself, aftershe came home that night was quite ashamed and evidently feared thatshe had been guilty of unbecoming conduct: she confessed to mother thatshe had been 'rather unladylike. '

"We were all--except Susan--out for a trial ride in father's newautomobile tonight. A very good one we had, too, though we did getingloriously ditched at the end, owing to a certain grim old dame--towit, Miss Elizabeth Carr of the Upper Glen--who wouldn't rein her horseout to let us pass, honk as we might. Father was quite furious; but inmy heart I believe I sympathized with Miss Elizabeth. If I had been aspinster lady, driving along behind my own old nag, in maidenmeditation fancy free, I wouldn't have lifted a rein when anobstreperous car hooted blatantly behind me. I should just have sat upas dourly as she did and said 'Take the ditch if you are determined topass. '

"We did take the ditch--and got up to our axles in sand--and satfoolishly there while Miss Elizabeth clucked up her horse and rattledvictoriously away. 

"Jem will have a laugh when I write him this. He knows Miss Elizabethof old. 

"But--will--Venice--be--saved?"

19th November 1917

"It is not saved yet--it is still in great danger. But the Italiansare making a stand at last on the Piave line. To be sure militarycritics say they cannot possibly hold it and must retreat to theAdige. But Susan and Gertrude and I say they must hold it, becauseVenice must be saved, so what are the military critics to do?

"Oh, if I could only believe that they can hold it!

"Our Canadian troops have won another great victory--they have stormedthe Passchendaele Ridge and held it in the face of all counter attacks. None of our boys were in the battle--but oh, the casualty list of otherpeople's boys! Joe Milgrave was in it but came through safe. Mirandahad some bad days until she got word from him. But it is wonderful howMiranda has bloomed out since her marriage. She isn't the same girl atall. Even her eyes seem to have darkened and deepened--though I supposethat is just because they glow with the greater intensity that has cometo her. She makes her father stand round in a perfectly amazingfashion; she runs up the flag whenever a yard of trench on the westernfront is taken; and she comes up regularly to our Junior Red Cross; andshe does--yes, she does--put on funny little 'married woman' airs thatare quite killing. But she is the only war-bride in the Glen and surelynobody need grudge her the satisfaction she gets out of it. 

"The Russian news is bad, too--Kerensky's government has fallen andLenin is dictator of Russia. Somehow, it is very hard to keep upcourage in the dull hopelessness of these grey autumn days of suspenseand boding news. But we are beginning to 'get in a low, ' as oldHighland Sandy says, over the approaching election. Conscription is thereal issue at stake and it will be the most exciting election we everhad. All the women 'who have got de age'--to quote Jo Poirier, and whohave husbands, sons, and brothers at the front, can vote. Oh, if I wereonly twenty-one! Gertrude and Susan are both furious because they can'tvote. 

"'It is not fair, ' Gertrude says passionately. 'There is Agnes Carr whocan vote because her husband went. She did everything she could toprevent him from going, and now she is going to vote against the UnionGovernment. Yet I have no vote, because my man at the front is only mysweetheart and not my husband!"

"As for Susan, when she reflects that she cannot vote, while a rank oldpacifist like Mr. Pryor can--and will--her comments are sulphurous. 

"I really feel sorry for the Elliotts and Crawfords and MacAllistersover-harbour. They have always lined up in clearly divided camps ofLiberal and Conservative, and now they are torn from their moorings--Iknow I'm mixing my metaphors dreadfully--and set hopelessly adrift. Itwill kill some of those old Grits to vote for Sir Robert Borden'sside--and yet they have to because they believe the time has come whenwe must have conscription. And some poor Conservatives who are againstconscription must vote for Laurier, who always has been anathema tothem. Some of them are taking it terribly hard. Others seem to be inmuch the same attitude as Mrs. Marshall Elliott has come to beregarding Church Union. 

"She was up here last night. She doesn't come as often as she used to. She is growing too old to walk this far--dear old 'Miss Cornelia. ' Ihate to think of her growing old--we have always loved her so and shehas always been so good to us Ingleside young fry. 

"She used to be so bitterly opposed to Church Union. But last night, when father told her it was practically decided, she said in a resignedtone, 'Well, in a world where everything is being rent and torn whatmatters one more rending and tearing? Anyhow, compared with Germanseven Methodists seem attractive to me. '

"Our Junior R. C. Goes on quite smoothly, in spite of the fact thatIrene has come back to it--having fallen out with the Lowbridgesociety, I understand. She gave me a sweet little jab lastmeeting--about knowing me across the square in Charlottetown 'by mygreen velvet hat. ' Everybody knows me by that detestable and detestedhat. This will be my fourth season for it. Even mother wanted me to geta new one this fall; but I said, 'No. ' As long as the war lasts so longdo I wear that velvet hat in winter. "

23rd November 1917

"The Piave line still holds--and General Byng has won a splendidvictory at Cambrai. I did run up the flag for that--but Susan onlysaid 'I shall set a kettle of water on the kitchen range tonight. I notice little Kitchener always has an attack of croup after anyBritish victory. I do hope he has no pro-German blood in his veins. Nobody knows much about his father's people. '

"Jims has had a few attacks of croup this fall--just the ordinarycroup--not that terrible thing he had last year. But whatever bloodruns in his little veins it is good, healthy blood. He is rosy andplump and curly and cute; and he says such funny things and asks suchcomical questions. He likes very much to sit in a special chair in thekitchen; but that is Susan's favourite chair, too, and when she wantsit, out Jims must go. The last time she put him out of it he turnedaround and asked solemnly, 'When you are dead, Susan, can I sit in thatchair?' Susan thought it quite dreadful, and I think that was when shebegan to feel anxiety about his possible ancestry. The other night Itook Jims with me for a walk down to the store. It was the first timehe had ever been out so late at night, and when he saw the stars heexclaimed, 'Oh, Willa, see the big moon and all the little moons!' Andlast Wednesday morning, when he woke up, my little alarm clock hadstopped because I had forgotten to wind it up. Jims bounded out of hiscrib and ran across to me, his face quite aghast above his little blueflannel pyjamas. 'The clock is dead, ' he gasped, 'oh Willa, the clockis dead. '

"One night he was quite angry with both Susan and me because we wouldnot give him something he wanted very much. When he said his prayers heplumped down wrathfully, and when he came to the petition 'Make me agood boy' he tacked on emphatically, 'and please make Willa and Susangood, 'cause they're not. '

"I don't go about quoting Jims's speeches to all I meet. That alwaysbores me when other people do it! I just enshrine them in this oldhotch-potch of a journal!

"This very evening as I put Jims to bed he looked up and asked megravely, 'Why can't yesterday come back, Willa?'

"Oh, why can't it, Jims? That beautiful 'yesterday' of dreams andlaughter--when our boys were home--when Walter and I read and rambledand watched new moons and sunsets together in Rainbow Valley. If itcould just come back! But yesterdays never come back, little Jims--andthe todays are dark with clouds--and we dare not think about thetomorrows. "

11th December 1917

"Wonderful news came today. The British troops captured Jerusalemyesterday. We ran up the flag and some of Gertrude's old sparklecame back to her for a moment. 

"'After all, ' she said, 'it is worth while to live in the days whichsee the object of the Crusades attained. The ghosts of all theCrusaders must have crowded the walls of Jerusalem last night, withCoeur-de-lion at their head. '

"Susan had cause for satisfaction also. 

"'I am so thankful I can pronounce Jerusalem and Hebron, ' she said. 'They give me a real comfortable feeling after Przemysl andBrest-Litovsk! Well, we have got the Turks on the run, at least, andVenice is safe and Lord Lansdowne is not to be taken seriously; and Isee no reason why we should be downhearted. '

"Jerusalem! The 'meteor flag of England!' floats over you--the Crescentis gone. How Walter would have thrilled over that!"

18th December 1917

"Yesterday the election came off. In the evening mother and Susanand Gertrude and I forgathered in the living-room and waited inbreathless suspense, father having gone down to the village. We hadno way of hearing the news, for Carter Flagg's store is not on ourline, and when we tried to get it Central always answered that theline 'was busy'--as no doubt it was, for everybody for miles around wastrying to get Carter's store for the same reason we were. 

"About ten o'clock Gertrude went to the 'phone and happened to catchsomeone from over-harbour talking to Carter Flagg. Gertrude shamelesslylistened in and got for her comforting what eavesdroppers areproverbially supposed to get--to wit, unpleasant hearing; the UnionGovernment had 'done nothing' in the West. 

"We looked at each other in dismay. If the Government had failed tocarry the West, it was defeated. 

"'Canada is disgraced in the eyes of the world, ' said Gertrude bitterly. 

"'If everybody was like the Mark Crawfords over-harbour this would nothave happened, ' groaned Susan. 'Yhey locked their Uncle up in the barnthis morning and would not let him out until he promised to vote Union. That is what I call effective argument, Mrs. Dr. Dear. '

"Gertrude and I couldn't rest after all that. We walked the floor untilour legs gave out and we had to sit down perforce. Mother knitted awayas steadily as clockwork and pretended to be calm and serene--pretendedso well that we were all deceived and envious until the next day, whenI caught her ravelling out four inches of her sock. She had knit thatfar past where the heel should have begun!

"It was twelve before father came home. He stood in the doorway andlooked at us and we looked at him. We did not dare ask him what thenews was. Then he said that it was Laurier who had 'done nothing' inthe West, and that the Union Government was in with a big majority. Gertrude clapped her hands. I wanted to laugh and cry, mother's eyesflashed with their old-time starriness and Susan emitted a queer soundbetween a gasp and a whoop. 

"This will not comfort the Kaiser much, ' she said. 

"Then we went to bed, but were too excited to sleep. Really, as Susansaid solemnly this morning, 'Mrs. Dr. Dear, I think politics are toostrenuous for women. '"

31st December 1917

"Our fourth War Christmas is over. We are trying to gather up somecourage wherewith to face another year of it. Germany has, for the mostpart, been victorious all summer. And now they say she has all hertroops from the Russian front ready for a 'big push' in the spring. Sometimes it seems to me that we just cannot live through the winterwaiting for that. 

"I had a great batch of letters from overseas this week. Shirley is atthe front now, too, and writes about it all as coolly andmatter-of-factly as he used to write of football at Queen's. Carl wrotethat it had been raining for weeks and that nights in the trenchesalways made him think of the night of long ago when he did penance inthe graveyard for running away from Henry Warren's ghost. Carl'sletters are always full of jokes and bits of fun. They had a greatrat-hunt the night before he wrote--spearing rats with theirbayonets--and he got the best bag and won the prize. He has a tame ratthat knows him and sleeps in his pocket at night. Rats don't worry Carlas they do some people--he was always chummy with all little beasts. Hesays he is making a study of the habits of the trench rat and means towrite a treatise on it some day that will make him famous. 

"Ken wrote a short letter. His letters are all rather short now--and hedoesn't often slip in those dear little sudden sentences I love somuch. Sometimes I think he has forgotten all about the night he washere to say goodbye--and then there will be just a line or a word thatmakes me think he remembers and always will remember. For instanceto-day's letter hadn't a thing in it that mightn't have been written toany girl, except that he signed himself 'Your Kenneth, ' instead of'Yours, Kenneth, ' as he usually does. Now, did he leave that 's' offintentionally or was it only carelessness? I shall lie awake half thenight wondering. He is a captain now. I am glad and proud--and yetCaptain Ford sounds so horribly far away and high up. Ken and CaptainFord seem like two different persons. I may be practically engaged toKen--mother's opinion on that point is my stay and bulwark--but I can'tbe to Captain Ford!

"And Jem is a lieutenant now--won his promotion on the field. He sentme a snap-shot, taken in his new uniform. He looked thin andold--old--my boy-brother Jem. I can't forget mother's face when Ishowed it to her. 'That--my little Jem--the baby of the old House ofDreams?' was all she said. 

"There was a letter from Faith, too. She is doing V. A. D. Work inEngland and writes hopefully and brightly. I think she is almosthappy--she saw Jem on his last leave and she is so near him she couldgo to him, if he were wounded. That means so much to her. Oh, if I wereonly with her! But my work is here at home. I know Walter wouldn't havewanted me to leave mother and in everything I try to 'keep faith' withhim, even to the little details of daily life. Walter died forCanada--I must live for her. That is what he asked me to do. "

28th January 1918

"'I shall anchor my storm-tossed soul to the Britishfleet and make a batch of bran biscuits, ' said Susan today to CousinSophia, who had come in with some weird tale of a new andall-conquering submarine, just launched by Germany. But Susan is asomewhat disgruntled woman at present, owing to the regulationsregarding cookery. Her loyalty to the Union Government is being sorelytried. It surmounted the first strain gallantly. When the order aboutflour came Susan said, quite cheerfully, 'I am an old dog to belearning new tricks, but I shall learn to make war bread if it willhelp defeat the Huns. '

"But the later suggestions went against Susan's grain. Had it not beenfor father's decree I think she would have snapped her fingers at SirRobert Borden. 

"'Talk about trying to make bricks without straw, Mrs. Dr. Dear! How amI to make a cake without butter or sugar? It cannot be done--not cakethat is cake. Of course one can make a slab, Mrs. Dr. Dear. And wecannot even camooflash it with a little icing! To think that I shouldhave lived to see the day when a government at Ottawa should step intomy kitchen and put me on rations!'

"Susan would give the last drop of her blood for her 'king andcountry, ' but to surrender her beloved recipes is a very different andmuch more serious matter. 

"I had letters from Nan and Di too--or rather notes. They are too busyto write letters, for exams are looming up. They will graduate in Artsthis spring. I am evidently to be the dunce of the family. But somehowI never had any hankering for a college course, and even now it doesn'tappeal to me. I'm afraid I'm rather devoid of ambition. There is onlyone thing I really want to be--and I don't know if I'll be it or not. If not--I don't want to be anything. But I shan't write it down. It isall right to think it; but, as Cousin Sophia would say, it might bebrazen to write it down. 

"I will write it down. I won't be cowed by the conventions and CousinSophia! I want to be Kenneth Ford's wife! There now!

"I've just looked in the glass, and I hadn't the sign of a blush on myface. I suppose I'm not a properly constructed damsel at all. 

"I was down to see little Dog Monday today. He has grown quite stiffand rheumatic but there he sat, waiting for the train. He thumped histail and looked pleadingly into my eyes. 'When will Jem come?' heseemed to say. Oh, Dog Monday, there is no answer to that question; andthere is, as yet, no answer to the other which we are all constantlyasking 'What will happen when Germany strikes again on the westernfront--her one great, last blow for victory!"

1st March 1918

"'What will spring bring?' Gertrude said today. 'I dread it as Inever dreaded spring before. Do you suppose there will ever againcome a time when life will be free from fear? For almost four yearswe have lain down with fear and risen up with it. It has been theunbidden guest at every meal, the unwelcome companion at everygathering. '

"'Hindenburg says he will be in Paris on 1st April, ' sighed CousinSophia. 

"'Hindenburg!' There is no power in pen and ink to express the contemptwhich Susan infused into that name. 'Has he forgotten what day thefirst of April is?'

"'Hindenburg has kept his word hitherto, ' said Gertrude, as gloomily asCousin Sophia herself could have said it. 

"'Yes, fighting against the Russians and Rumanians, ' retorted Susan. 'Wait you till he comes up against the British and French, not to speakof the Yankees, who are getting there as fast as they can and will nodoubt give a good account of themselves. '

"'You said just the same thing before Mons, Susan, ' I reminded her. 

"'Hindenburg says he will spend a million lives to break the Alliedfront, ' said Gertrude. 'At such a price he must purchase some successesand how can we live through them, even if he is baffled in the end. These past two months when we have been crouching and waiting for theblow to fall have seemed as long as all the preceding months of the warput together. I work all day feverishly and waken at three o'clock atnight to wonder if the iron legions have struck at last. It is then Isee Hindenburg in Paris and Germany triumphant. I never see her so atany other time than that accursed hour. '

"Susan looked dubious over Gertrude's adjective, but evidentlyconcluded that the 'a' saved the situation. 

"'I wish it were possible to take some magic draught and go to sleepfor the next three months--and then waken to find Armageddon over, 'said mother, almost impatiently. 

"It is not often that mother slumps into a wish like that--or at leastthe verbal expression of it. Mother has changed a great deal since thatterrible day in September when we knew that Walter would not come back;but she has always been brave and patient. Now it seemed as if even shehad reached the limit of her endurance. 

"Susan went over to mother and touched her shoulder. 

"'Do not you be frightened or downhearted, Mrs. Dr. Dear, ' she saidgently. 'I felt somewhat that way myself last night, and I rose from mybed and lighted my lamp and opened my Bible; and what do you think wasthe first verse my eyes lighted upon? It was 'And they shall fightagainst thee but they shall not prevail against thee, for I am withthee, saith the Lord of Hosts, to deliver thee. ' I am not gifted in theway of dreaming, as Miss Oliver is, but I knew then and there, Mrs. Dr. Dear, that it was a manifest leading, and that Hindenburg will neversee Paris. So I read no further but went back to my bed and I did notwaken at three o'clock or at any other hour before morning. '

"I say that verse Susan read over and over again to myself. The Lord ofHosts is with us--and the spirits of all just men made perfect--andeven the legions and guns that Germany is massing on the western frontmust break against such a barrier. This is in certain uplifted moments;but when other moments come I feel, like Gertrude, that I cannot endureany longer this awful and ominous hush before the coming storm. "

23rd March 1918

"Armageddon has begun!--'the last great fight of all!' Is it, Iwonder? Yesterday I went down to the post office for the mail. Itwas a dull, bitter day. The snow was gone but the grey, lifelessground was frozen hard and a biting wind was blowing. The whole Glenlandscape was ugly and hopeless. 

"Then I got the paper with its big black headlines. Germany struck onthe twenty-first. She makes big claims of guns and prisoners taken. General Haig reports that 'severe fighting continues. ' I don't like thesound of that last expression. 

"We all find we cannot do any work that requires concentration ofthought. So we all knit furiously, because we can do that mechanically. At least the dreadful waiting is over--the horrible wondering where andwhen the blow will fall. It has fallen--but they shall not prevailagainst us!

"Oh, what is happening on the western front tonight as I write this, sitting here in my room with my journal before me? Jims is asleep inhis crib and the wind is wailing around the window; over my desk hangsWalter's picture, looking at me with his beautiful deep eyes; the MonaLisa he gave me the last Christmas he was home hangs on one side of it, and on the other a framed copy of "The Piper. " It seems to me that Ican hear Walter's voice repeating it--that little poem into which heput his soul, and which will therefore live for ever, carrying Walter'sname on through the future of our land. Everything about me is calm andpeaceful and 'homey. ' Walter seems very near me--if I could just sweepaside the thin wavering little veil that hangs between, I could seehim--just as he saw the Pied Piper the night before Courcelette. 

"Over there in France tonight--does the line hold?"

CHAPTER XXVIII

BLACK SUNDAY

In March of the year of grace 1918 there was one week into which musthave crowded more of searing human agony than any seven days had everheld before in the history of the world. And in that week there was oneday when all humanity seemed nailed to the cross; on that day the wholeplanet must have been agroan with universal convulsion; everywhere thehearts of men were failing them for fear. 

It dawned calmly and coldly and greyly at Ingleside. Mrs. Blythe andRilla and Miss Oliver made ready for church in a suspense tempered byhope and confidence. The doctor was away, having been summoned duringthe wee sma's to the Marwood household in Upper Glen, where a littlewar-bride was fighting gallantly on her own battleground to give life, not death, to the world. Susan announced that she meant to stay homethat morning--a rare decision for Susan. 

"But I would rather not go to church this morning, Mrs. Dr. Dear, " sheexplained. "If Whiskers-on-the-moon were there and I saw him lookingholy and pleased, as he always looks when he thinks the Huns arewinning, I fear I would lose my patience and my sense of decorum andhurl a Bible or hymn-book at him, thereby disgracing myself and thesacred edifice. No, Mrs. Dr. Dear, I shall stay home from church tillthe tide turns and pray hard here. "

"I think I might as well stay home, too, for all the good church willdo me today, " Miss Oliver said to Rilla, as they walked down thehard-frozen red road to the church. "I can think of nothing but thequestion, 'Does the line still hold?'"

"Next Sunday will be Easter, " said Rilla. "Will it herald death or lifeto our cause?"

Mr. Meredith preached that morning from the text, "He that endureth tothe end shall be saved, " and hope and confidence rang through hisinspiring sentences. Rilla, looking up at the memorial tablet on thewall above their pew, "sacred to the memory of Walter Cuthbert Blythe, "felt herself lifted out of her dread and filled anew with courage. Walter could not have laid down his life for naught. His had been thegift of prophetic vision and he had foreseen victory. She would clingto that belief--the line would hold. 

In this renewed mood she walked home from church almost gaily. Theothers, too, were hopeful, and all went smiling into Ingleside. Therewas no one in the living-room, save Jims, who had fallen asleep on thesofa, and Doc, who sat "hushed in grim repose" on the hearth-rug, looking very Hydeish indeed. No one was in the dining-room either--and, stranger still, no dinner was on the table, which was not even set. Where was Susan?

"Can she have taken ill?" exclaimed Mrs. Blythe anxiously. "I thoughtit strange that she did not want to go to church this morning. "

The kitchen door opened and Susan appeared on the threshold with such aghastly face that Mrs. Blythe cried out in sudden panic. 

"Susan, what is it?"

"The British line is broken and the German shells are falling onParis, " said Susan dully. 

The three women stared at each other, stricken. 

"It's not true--it's not, " gasped Rilla. 

"The thing would be--ridiculous, " said Gertrude Oliver--and then shelaughed horribly. 

"Susan, who told you this--when did the news come?" asked Mrs. Blythe. 

"I got it over the long-distance phone from Charlottetown half an hourago, " said Susan. "The news came to town late last night. It was Dr. Holland phoned it out and he said it was only too true. Since then Ihave done nothing, Mrs. Dr. Dear. I am very sorry dinner is not ready. It is the first time I have been so remiss. If you will be patient Iwill soon have something for you to eat. But I am afraid I let thepotatoes burn. "

"Dinner! Nobody wants any dinner, Susan, " said Mrs. Blythe wildly. "Oh, this thing is unbelievable--it must be a nightmare. "

"Paris is lost--France is lost--the war is lost, " gasped Rilla, amidthe utter ruins of hope and confidence and belief. 

"Oh God--Oh God, " moaned Gertrude Oliver, walking about the room andwringing her hands, "Oh--God!"

Nothing else--no other words--nothing but that age old plea--the old, old cry of supreme agony and appeal, from the human heart whose everyhuman staff has failed it. 

"Is God dead?" asked a startled little voice from the doorway of theliving-room. Jims stood there, flushed from sleep, his big brown eyesfilled with dread, "Oh Willa--oh, Willa, is God dead?"

Miss Oliver stopped walking and exclaiming, and stared at Jims, inwhose eyes tears of fright were beginning to gather. Rilla ran to hiscomforting, while Susan bounded up from the chair upon which she haddropped. 

"No, " she said briskly, with a sudden return of her real self. "No, Godisn't dead--nor Lloyd George either. We were forgetting that, Mrs. Dr. Dear. Don't cry, little Kitchener. Bad as things are, they might beworse. The British line may be broken but the British navy is not. Letus tie to that. I will take a brace and get up a bite to eat, forstrength we must have. "

They made a pretence of eating Susan's "bite, " but it was only apretence. Nobody at Ingleside ever forgot that black afternoon. Gertrude Oliver walked the floor--they all walked the floor; exceptSusan, who got out her grey war sock. 

"Mrs. Dr. Dear, I must knit on Sunday at last. I have never dreamed ofdoing it before for, say what might be said, I have considered it was aviolation of the third commandment. But whether it is or whether it isnot I must knit today or I shall go mad. "

"Knit if you can, Susan, " said Mrs. Blythe restlessly. "I would knit ifI could--but I cannot--I cannot. "

"If we could only get fuller information, " moaned Rilla. "There mightbe something to encourage us--if we knew all. "

"We know that the Germans are shelling Paris, " said Miss Oliverbitterly. "In that case they must have smashed through everywhere andbe at the very gates. No, we have lost--let us face the fact as otherpeoples in the past have had to face it. Other nations, with right ontheir side, have given their best and bravest--and gone down to defeatin spite of it. Ours is 'but one more To baffled millions who have gonebefore. '"

"I won't give up like that, " cried Rilla, her pale face suddenlyflushing. "I won't despair. We are not conquered--no, if Germanyoverruns all France we are not conquered. I am ashamed of myself forthis hour of despair. You won't see me slump again like that, I'm goingto ring up town at once and ask for particulars. "

But town could not be got. The long-distance operator there wassubmerged by similar calls from every part of the distracted country. Rilla finally gave up and slipped away to Rainbow Valley. There sheknelt down on the withered grey grasses in the little nook where sheand Walter had had their last talk together, with her head bowedagainst the mossy trunk of a fallen tree. The sun had broken throughthe black clouds and drenched the valley with a pale golden splendour. The bells on the Tree Lovers twinkled elfinly and fitfully in the gustyMarch wind. 

"Oh God, give me strength, " Rilla whispered. "Just strength--andcourage. " Then like a child she clasped her hands together and said, assimply as Jims could have done, "Please send us better news tomorrow. "

She knelt there a long time, and when she went back to Ingleside shewas calm and resolute. The doctor had arrived home, tired buttriumphant, little Douglas Haig Marwood having made a safe landing onthe shores of time. Gertrude was still pacing restlessly but Mrs. Blythe and Susan had reacted from the shock, and Susan was alreadyplanning a new line of defence for the channel ports. 

"As long as we can hold them, " she declared, "the situation is saved. Paris has really no military significance. "

"Don't, " said Gertrude sharply, as if Susan had run something into her. She thought the old worn phrase 'no military significance' nothingshort of ghastly mockery under the circumstances, and more terrible toendure than the voice of despair would have been. 

"I heard up at Marwood's of the line being broken, " said the doctor, "but this story of the Germans shelling Paris seems to be ratherincredible. Even if they broke through they were fifty miles from Parisat the nearest point and how could they get their artillery closeenough to shell it in so short a time? Depend upon it, girls, that partof the message can't be true. I'm going to try to try a long-distancecall to town myself. "

The doctor was no more successful than Rilla had been, but his point ofview cheered them all a little, and helped them through the evening. And at nine o'clock a long-distance message came through at last, thathelped them through the night. 

"The line broke only in one place, before St. Quentin, " said thedoctor, as he hung up the receiver, "and the British troops areretreating in good order. That's not so bad. As for the shells that arefalling on Paris, they are coming from a distance of seventymiles--from some amazing long-range gun the Germans have invented andsprung with the opening offensive. That is all the news to date, andDr. Holland says it is reliable. "

"It would have been dreadful news yesterday, " said Gertrude, "butcompared to what we heard this morning it is almost like good news. Butstill, " she added, trying to smile, "I am afraid I will not sleep muchtonight. "

"There is one thing to be thankful for at any rate, Miss Oliver, dear, "said Susan, "and that is that Cousin Sophia did not come in today. Ireally could not have endured her on top of all the rest. "

CHAPTER XXIX

"WOUNDED AND MISSING"

"Battered but Not Broken" was the headline in Monday's paper, and Susanrepeated it over and over to herself as she went about her work. Thegap caused by the St. Quentin disaster had been patched up in time, butthe Allied line was being pushed relentlessly back from the territorythey had purchased in 1917 with half a million lives. On Wednesday theheadline was "British and French Check Germans"; but still the retreatwent on. Back--and back--and back! Where would it end? Would the linebreak again--this time disastrously?

On Saturday the headline was "Even Berlin Admits Offensive Checked, "and for the first time in that terrible week the Ingleside folk daredto draw a long breath. 

"Well, we have got one week over--now for the next, " said Susanstaunchly. 

"I feel like a prisoner on the rack when they stopped turning it, " MissOliver said to Rilla, as they went to church on Easter morning. "But Iam not off the rack. The torture may begin again at any time. "

"I doubted God last Sunday, " said Rilla, "but I don't doubt him today. Evil cannot win. Spirit is on our side and it is bound to outlastflesh. "

Nevertheless her faith was often tried in the dark spring thatfollowed. Armageddon was not, as they had hoped, a matter of a fewdays. It stretched out into weeks and months. Again and againHindenburg struck his savage, sudden blows, with alarming, thoughfutile success. Again and again the military critics declared thesituation extremely perilous. Again and again Cousin Sophia agreed withthe military critics. 

"If the Allies go back three miles more the war is lost, " she wailed. 

"Is the British navy anchored in those three miles?" demanded Susanscornfully. 

"It is the opinion of a man who knows all about it, " said Cousin Sophiasolemnly. 

"There is no such person, " retorted Susan. "As for the militarycritics, they do not know one blessed thing about it, any more than youor I. They have been mistaken times out of number. Why do you alwayslook on the dark side, Sophia Crawford?"

"Because there ain't any bright side, Susan Baker. "

"Oh, is there not? It is the twentieth of April, and Hindy is not inParis yet, although he said he would be there by April first. Is thatnot a bright spot at least?"

"It is my opinion that the Germans will be in Paris before very longand more than that, Susan Baker, they will be in Canada. "

"Not in this part of it. The Huns shall never set foot in Prince EdwardIsland as long as I can handle a pitchfork, " declared Susan, looking, and feeling quite equal to routing the entire German armysingle-handed. "No, Sophia Crawford, to tell you the plain truth I amsick and tired of your gloomy predictions. I do not deny that somemistakes have been made. The Germans would never have got backPasschendaele if the Canadians had been left there; and it was badbusiness trusting to those Portuguese at the Lys River. But that is noreason why you or anyone should go about proclaiming the war is lost. Ido not want to quarrel with you, least of all at such a time as this, but our morale must be kept up, and I am going to speak my mind outplainly and tell you that if you cannot keep from such croaking yourroom is better than your company. "

Cousin Sophia marched home in high dudgeon to digest her affront, anddid not reappear in Susan's kitchen for many weeks. Perhaps it was justas well, for they were hard weeks, when the Germans continued tostrike, now here, now there, and seemingly vital points fell to them atevery blow. And one day in early May, when wind and sunshine frolickedin Rainbow Valley and the maple grove was golden-green and the harbourall blue and dimpled and white-capped, the news came about Jem. 

There had been a trench raid on the Canadian front--a little trenchraid so insignificant that it was never even mentioned in thedispatches and when it was over Lieutenant James Blythe was reported"wounded and missing. "

"I think this is even worse than the news of his death would havebeen, " moaned Rilla through her white lips, that night. 

"No--no--'missing' leaves a little hope, Rilla, " urged Gertrude Oliver. 

"Yes--torturing, agonized hope that keeps you from ever becoming quiteresigned to the worst, " said Rilla. "Oh, Miss Oliver--must we go forweeks and months--not knowing whether Jem is alive or dead? Perhaps wewill never know. I--I cannot bear it--I cannot. Walter--and now Jem. This will kill mother--look at her face, Miss Oliver, and you will seethat. And Faith--poor Faith--how can she bear it?"

Gertrude shivered with pain. She looked up at the pictures hanging overRilla's desk and felt a sudden hatred of Mona Lisa's endless smile. 

"Will not even this blot it off your face?" she thought savagely. 

But she said gently, "No, it won't kill your mother. She's made offiner mettle than that. Besides, she refuses to believe Jem is dead;she will cling to hope and we must all do that. Faith, you may be sure, will do it. "

"I cannot, " moaned Rilla, "Jem was wounded--what chance would he have?Even if the Germans found him--we know how they have treated woundedprisoners. I wish I could hope, Miss Oliver--it would help, I suppose. But hope seems dead in me. I can't hope without some reason for it--andthere is no reason. "

When Miss Oliver had gone to her own room and Rilla was lying on herbed in the moonlight, praying desperately for a little strength, Susanstepped in like a gaunt shadow and sat down beside her. 

"Rilla, dear, do not you worry. Little Jem is not dead. "

"Oh, how can you believe that, Susan?"

"Because I know. Listen you to me. When that word came this morning thefirst thing I thought of was Dog Monday. And tonight, as soon as I gotthe supper dishes washed and the bread set, I went down to the station. There was Dog Monday, waiting for the train, just as patient as usual. Now, Rilla, dear, that trench raid was four days ago--last Monday--andI said to the station-agent, 'Can you tell me if that dog howled ormade any kind of a fuss last Monday night?' He thought it over a bit, and then he said, 'No, he did not. ' 'Are you sure?' I said. 'There'smore depends on it than you think!' 'Dead sure, ' he said. 'I was up allnight last Monday night because my mare was sick, and there was never asound out of him. I would have heard if there had been, for the stabledoor was open all the time and his kennel is right across from it!' NowRilla dear, those were the man's very words. And you know how that poorlittle dog howled all night after the battle of Courcelette. Yet he didnot love Walter as much as he loved Jem. If he mourned for Walter likethat, do you suppose he would sleep sound in his kennel the night afterJem had been killed? No, Rilla dear, little Jem is not dead, and thatyou may tie to. If he were, Dog Monday would have known, just as heknew before, and he would not be still waiting for the trains. "

It was absurd--and irrational--and impossible. But Rilla believed it, for all that; and Mrs. Blythe believed it; and the doctor, though hesmiled faintly in pretended derision, felt an odd confidence replacehis first despair; and foolish and absurd or not, they all plucked upheart and courage to carry on, just because a faithful little dog atthe Glen station was still watching with unbroken faith for his masterto come home. Common sense might scorn--incredulity might mutter "Meresuperstition"--but in their hearts the folk of Ingleside stood by theirbelief that Dog Monday knew. 

CHAPTER XXX

THE TURNING OF THE TIDE

Susan was very sorrowful when she saw the beautiful old lawn ofIngleside ploughed up that spring and planted with potatoes. Yet shemade no protest, even when her beloved peony bed was sacrificed. Butwhen the Government passed the Daylight Saving law Susan balked. Therewas a Higher Power than the Union Government, to which Susan owedallegiance. 

"Do you think it right to meddle with the arrangements of theAlmighty?" she demanded indignantly of the doctor. The doctor, quiteunmoved, responded that the law must be observed, and the Inglesideclocks were moved on accordingly. But the doctor had no power overSusan's little alarm. 

"I bought that with my own money, Mrs. Dr. Dear, " she said firmly, "andit shall go on God's time and not Borden's time. "

Susan got up and went to bed by "God's time, " and regulated her owngoings and comings by it. She served the meals, under protest, byBorden's time, and she had to go to church by it, which was thecrowning injury. But she said her prayers by her own clock, and fed thehens by it; so that there was always a furtive triumph in her eye whenshe looked at the doctor. She had got the better of him by so much atleast. 

"Whiskers-on-the-moon is very much delighted with this daylight savingbusiness, " she told him one evening. "Of course he naturally would be, since I understand that the Germans invented it. I hear he came nearlosing his entire wheat-crop lately. Warren Mead's cows broke into thefield one day last week--it was the very day the Germans captured theChemang-de-dam, which may have been a coincidence or may not--and weremaking fine havoc of it when Mrs. Dick Clow happened to see them fromher attic window. At first she had no intention of letting Mr. Pryorknow. She told me she had just gloated over the sight of those cowspasturing on his wheat. She felt it served him exactly right. Butpresently she reflected that the wheat-crop was a matter of greatimportance and that 'save and serve' meant that those cows must berouted out as much as it meant anything. So she went down and phonedover to Whiskers about the matter. All the thanks she got was that hesaid something queer right out to her. She is not prepared to statethat it was actually swearing for you cannot be sure just what you hearover the phone; but she has her own opinion, and so have I, but I willnot express it for here comes Mr. Meredith, and Whiskers is one of hiselders, so we must be discreet. "

"Are you looking for the new star?" asked Mr. Meredith, joining MissOliver and Rilla, who were standing among the blossoming potatoesgazing skyward. 

"Yes--we have found it--see, it is just above the tip of the tallestold pine. "

"It's wonderful to be looking at something that happened three thousandyears ago, isn't it?" said Rilla. "That is when astronomers think thecollision took place which produced this new star. It makes me feelhorribly insignificant, " she added under her breath. 

"Even this event cannot dwarf into what may be the proper perspectivein star systems the fact that the Germans are again only one leap fromParis, " said Gertrude restlessly. 

"I think I would like to have been an astronomer, " said Mr. Meredithdreamily, gazing at the star. 

"There must be a strange pleasure in it, " agreed Miss Oliver, "anunearthly pleasure, in more senses than one. I would like to have a fewastronomers for my friends. "

"Fancy talking the gossip of the hosts of heaven, " laughed Rilla. 

"I wonder if astronomers feel a very deep interest in earthly affairs?"said the doctor. "Perhaps students of the canals of Mars would not beso keenly sensitive to the significance of a few yards of trenches lostor won on the western front. "

"I have read somewhere, " said Mr. Meredith, "that Ernest Renan wroteone of his books during the siege of Paris in 1870 and 'enjoyed thewriting of it very much. ' I suppose one would call him a philosopher. "

"I have read also, " said Miss Oliver, "that shortly before his death hesaid that his only regret in dying was that he must die before he hadseen what that 'extremely interesting young man, the German Emperor, 'would do in his life. If Ernest Renan 'walked' today and saw what thatinteresting young man had done to his beloved France, not to speak ofthe world, I wonder if his mental detachment would be as complete as itwas in 1870. "

"I wonder where Jem is tonight, " thought Rilla, in a sudden bitterinrush of remembrance. 

It was over a month since the news had come about Jem. Nothing had beendiscovered concerning him, in spite of all efforts. Two or threeletters had come from him, written before the trench raid, and sincethen there had been only unbroken silence. Now the Germans were againat the Marne, pressing nearer and nearer Paris; now rumours were comingof another Austrian offensive against the Piave line. Rilla turned awayfrom the new star, sick at heart. It was one of the moments when hopeand courage failed her utterly--when it seemed impossible to go on evenone more day. If only they knew what had happened to Jem--you can faceanything you know. But a beleaguerment of fear and doubt and suspenseis a hard thing for the morale. Surely, if Jem were alive, some wordwould have come through. He must be dead. Only--they would neverknow--they could never be quite sure; and Dog Monday would wait for thetrain until he died of old age. Monday was only a poor, faithful, rheumatic little dog, who knew nothing more of his master's fate thanthey did. 

Rilla had a "white night" and did not fall asleep until late. When shewakened Gertrude Oliver was sitting at her window leaning out to meetthe silver mystery of the dawn. Her clever, striking profile, with themasses of black hair behind it, came out clearly against the pallidgold of the eastern sky. Rilla remembered Jem's admiration of the curveof Miss Oliver's brow and chin, and she shuddered. Everything thatreminded her of Jem was beginning to give intolerable pain. Walter'sdeath had inflicted on her heart a terrible wound. But it had been aclean wound and had healed slowly, as such wounds do, though the scarmust remain for ever. But the torture of Jem's disappearance wasanother thing: there was a poison in it that kept it from healing. Thealternations of hope and despair, the endless watching each day for theletter that never came--that might never come--the newspaper tales ofill-usage of prisoners--the bitter wonder as to Jem's wound--all wereincreasingly hard to bear. 

Gertrude Oliver turned her head. There was an odd brilliancy in hereyes. 

"Rilla, I've had another dream. "

"Oh, no--no, " cried Rilla, shrinking. Miss Oliver's dreams had alwaysforetold coming disaster. 

"Rilla, it was a good dream. Listen--I dreamed just as I did four yearsago, that I stood on the veranda steps and looked down the Glen. And itwas still covered by waves that lapped about my feet. But as I lookedthe waves began to ebb--and they ebbed as swiftly as, four years ago, they rolled in--ebbed out and out, to the gulf; and the Glen lay beforeme, beautiful and green, with a rainbow spanning Rainbow Valley--arainbow of such splendid colour that it dazzled me--and I woke. Rilla--Rilla Blythe--the tide has turned. "

"I wish I could believe it, " sighed Rilla. 

 "Sooth was my prophecy of fear Believe it when it augurs cheer, "

quoted Gertrude, almost gaily. "I tell you I have no doubt. "

Yet, in spite of the great Italian victory at the Piave that came a fewdays later, she had doubt many a time in the hard month that followed;and when in mid-July the Germans crossed the Marne again despair camesickeningly. It was idle, they all felt, to hope that the miracle ofthe Marne would be repeated. But it was: again, as in 1914, the tideturned at the Marne. The French and the American troops struck theirsudden smashing blow on the exposed flank of the enemy and, with thealmost inconceivable rapidity of a dream, the whole aspect of the warchanged. 

"The Allies have won two tremendous victories, " said the doctor on 20thJuly. 

"It is the beginning of the end--I feel it--I feel it, " said Mrs. Blythe. 

"Thank God, " said Susan, folding her trembling old hands, Then sheadded, under her breath, "but it won't bring our boys back. "

Nevertheless she went out and ran up the flag, for the first time sincethe fall of Jerusalem. As it caught the breeze and swelled gallantlyout above her, Susan lifted her hand and saluted it, as she had seenShirley do. "We've all given something to keep you flying, " she said. "Four hundred thousand of our boys gone overseas--fifty thousand ofthem killed. But--you are worth it!" The wind whipped her grey hairabout her face and the gingham apron that shrouded her from head tofoot was cut on lines of economy, not of grace; yet, somehow, just thenSusan made an imposing figure. She was one of the women--courageous, unquailing, patient, heroic--who had made victory possible. In her, they all saluted the symbol for which their dearest had fought. Something of this was in the doctor's mind as he watched her from thedoor. 

"Susan, " he said, when she turned to come in, "from first to last ofthis business you have been a brick!"

CHAPTER XXXI

MRS. MATILDA PITTMAN

Rilla and Jims were standing on the rear platform of their car when thetrain stopped at the little Millward siding. The August evening was sohot and close that the crowded cars were stifling. Nobody ever knewjust why trains stopped at Millward siding. Nobody was ever known toget off there or get on. There was only one house nearer to it thanfour miles, and it was surrounded by acres of blueberry barrens andscrub spruce-trees. 

Rilla was on her way into Charlottetown to spend the night with afriend and the next day in Red Cross shopping; she had taken Jims withher, partly because she did not want Susan or her mother to be botheredwith his care, partly because of a hungry desire in her heart to haveas much of him as she could before she might have to give him upforever. James Anderson had written to her not long before this; he waswounded and in the hospital; he would not be able to go back to thefront and as soon as he was able he would be coming home for Jims. 

Rilla was heavy-hearted over this, and worried also. She loved Jimsdearly and would feel deeply giving him up in any case; but if JimAnderson were a different sort of a man, with a proper home for thechild, it would not be so bad. But to give Jims up to a roving, shiftless, irresponsible father, however kind and good-hearted he mightbe--and she knew Jim Anderson was kind and good-hearted enough--was abitter prospect to Rilla. It was not even likely Anderson would stay inthe Glen; he had no ties there now; he might even go back to England. She might never see her dear, sunshiny, carefully brought-up littleJims again. With such a father what might his fate be? Rilla meant tobeg Jim Anderson to leave him with her, but, from his letter, she hadnot much hope that he would. 

"If he would only stay in the Glen, where I could keep an eye on Jimsand have him often with me I wouldn't feel so worried over it, " shereflected. "But I feel sure he won't--and Jims will never have anychance. And he is such a bright little chap--he has ambition, whereverhe got it--and he isn't lazy. But his father will never have a cent togive him any education or start in life. Jims, my little war-baby, whatever is going to become of you?"

Jims was not in the least concerned over what was to become of him. Hewas gleefully watching the antics of a striped chipmunk that wasfrisking over the roof of the little siding. As the train pulled outJims leaned eagerly forward for a last look at Chippy, pulling his handfrom Rilla's. Rilla was so engrossed in wondering what was to become ofJims in the future that she forgot to take notice of what was happeningto him in the present. What did happen was that Jims lost his balance, shot headlong down the steps, hurtled across the little sidingplatform, and landed in a clump of bracken fern on the other side. 

Rilla shrieked and lost her head. She sprang down the steps and jumpedoff the train. 

Fortunately, the train was still going at a comparatively slow speed;fortunately also, Rilla retained enough sense to jump the way it wasgoing; nevertheless, she fell and sprawled helplessly down theembankment, landing in a ditch full of a rank growth of golden-rod andfireweed. 

Nobody had seen what had happened and the train whisked briskly awayround a curve in the barrens. Rilla picked herself up, dizzy butunhurt, scrambled out of the ditch, and flew wildly across theplatform, expecting to find Jims dead or broken in pieces. But Jims, except for a few bruises, and a big fright, was quite uninjured. He wasso badly scared that he didn't even cry, but Rilla, when she found thathe was safe and sound, burst into tears and sobbed wildly. 

"Nasty old twain, " remarked Jims in disgust. "And nasty old God, " headded, with a scowl at the heavens. 

A laugh broke into Rilla's sobbing, producing something very like whather father would have called hysterics. But she caught herself upbefore the hysteria could conquer her. 

"Rilla Blythe, I'm ashamed of you. Pull yourself together immediately. Jims, you shouldn't have said anything like that. "

"God frew me off the twain, " declared Jims defiantly. "Somebody frewme; you didn't frow me; so it was God. "

"No, it wasn't. You fell because you let go of my hand and bent too farforward. I told you not to do that. So that it was your own fault. "

Jims looked to see if she meant it; then glanced up at the sky again. 

"Excuse me, then, God, " he remarked airily. 

Rilla scanned the sky also; she did not like its appearance; a heavythundercloud was appearing in the northwest. What in the world was tobe done? There was no other train that night, since the nine o'clockspecial ran only on Saturdays. Would it be possible for them to reachHannah Brewster's house, two miles away, before the storm broke? Rillathought she could do it alone easily enough, but with Jims it wasanother matter. Were his little legs good for it?

"We've got to try it, " said Rilla desperately. "We might stay in thesiding until the thunderstorm is over; but it may keep on raining allnight and anyway it will be pitch dark. If we can get to Hannah's shewill keep us all night. "

Hannah Brewster, when she had been Hannah Crawford, had lived in theGlen and gone to school with Rilla. They had been good friends then, though Hannah had been three years the older. She had married veryyoung and had gone to live in Millward. What with hard work and babiesand a ne'er-do-well husband, her life had not been an easy one, andHannah seldom revisited her old home. Rilla had visited her once soonafter her marriage, but had not seen her or even heard of her foryears; she knew, however, that she and Jims would find welcome andharbourage in any house where rosy-faced, open-hearted, generous Hannahlived. 

For the first mile they got on very well but the second one was harder. The road, seldom used, was rough and deep-rutted. Jims grew so tiredthat Rilla had to carry him for the last quarter. She reached theBrewster house, almost exhausted, and dropped Jims on the walk with asigh of thankfulness. The sky was black with clouds; the first heavydrops were beginning to fall; and the rumble of thunder was growingvery loud. Then she made an unpleasant discovery. The blinds were alldown and the doors locked. Evidently the Brewsters were not at home. Rilla ran to the little barn. It, too, was locked. No other refugepresented itself. The bare whitewashed little house had not even averanda or porch. 

It was almost dark now and her plight seemed desperate. 

"I'm going to get in if I have to break a window, " said Rillaresolutely. "Hannah would want me to do that. She'd never get over itif she heard I came to her house for refuge in a thunderstorm andcouldn't get in. "

Luckily she did not have to go to the length of actual housebreaking. The kitchen window went up quite easily. Rilla lifted Jims in andscrambled through herself, just as the storm broke in good earnest. 

"Oh, see all the little pieces of thunder, " cried Jims in delight, asthe hail danced in after them. Rilla shut the window and with somedifficulty found and lighted a lamp. They were in a very snug littlekitchen. Opening off it on one side was a trim, nicely furnishedparlour, and on the other a pantry, which proved to be well stocked. 

"I'm going to make myself at home, " said Rilla. "I know that is justwhat Hannah would want me to do. I'll get a little snack for Jims andme, and then if the rain continues and nobody comes home I'll just goupstairs to the spare room and go to bed. There is nothing like actingsensibly in an emergency. If I had not been a goose when I saw Jimsfall off the train I'd have rushed back into the car and got some oneto stop it. Then I wouldn't have been in this scrape. Since I am in itI'll make the best of it. 

"This house, " she added, looking around, "is fixed up much nicer thanwhen I was here before. Of course Hannah and Ted were just beginninghousekeeping then. But somehow I've had the idea that Ted hasn't beenvery prosperous. He must have done better than I've been led tobelieve, when they can afford furniture like this. I'm awfully glad forHannah's sake. "

The thunderstorm passed, but the rain continued to fall heavily. Ateleven o'clock Rilla decided that nobody was coming home. Jims hadfallen asleep on the sofa; she carried him up to the spare room and puthim to bed. Then she undressed, put on a nightgown she found in thewashstand drawer, and scrambled sleepily in between very nicelavender-scented sheets. She was so tired, after her adventures andexertions, that not even the oddity of her situation could keep herawake; she was sound asleep in a few minutes. 

Rilla slept until eight o'clock the next morning and then wakened withstartling suddenness. Somebody was saying in a harsh, gruff voice, "Here, you two, wake up. I want to know what this means. "

Rilla did wake up, promptly and effectually. She had never in all herlife wakened up so thoroughly before. Standing in the room were threepeople, one of them a man, who were absolute strangers to her. The manwas a big fellow with a bushy black beard and an angry scowl. Besidehim was a woman--a tall, thin, angular person, with violently red hairand an indescribable hat. She looked even crosser and more amazed thanthe man, if that were possible. In the background was another woman--atiny old lady who must have been at least eighty. She was, in spite ofher tinyness, a very striking-looking personage; she was dressed inunrelieved black, had snow-white hair, a dead-white face, and snapping, vivid, coal-black eyes. She looked as amazed as the other two, butRilla realized that she didn't look cross. 

Rilla also was realizing that something was wrong--fearfully wrong. Then the man said, more gruffly than ever, "Come now. Who are you andwhat business have you here?"

Rilla raised herself on one elbow, looking and feeling hopelesslybewildered and foolish. She heard the old black-and-white lady in thebackground chuckle to herself. "She must be real, " Rilla thought. "Ican't be dreaming her. " Aloud she gasped, "Isn't this Theodore Brewster's place?"

"No, " said the big woman, speaking for the first time, "this placebelongs to us. We bought it from the Brewsters last fall. They moved toGreenvale. Our name is Chapley. "

Poor Rilla fell back on her pillow, quite overcome. 

"I beg your pardon, " she said. "I--I--thought the Brewsters lived here. Mrs. Brewster is a friend of mine. I am Rilla Blythe--Dr. Blythe'sdaughter from Glen St. Mary. I--I was going to town with my--my--thislittle boy--and he fell off the train--and I jumped off after him--andnobody knew of it. I knew we couldn't get home last night and a stormwas coming up--so we came here and when we found nobody athome--we--we--just got in through the window and--and--made ourselvesat home. "

"So it seems, " said the woman sarcastically. 

"A likely story, " said the man. 

"We weren't born yesterday, " added the woman. 

Madam Black-and-White didn't say anything; but when the other two madetheir pretty speeches she doubled up in a silent convulsion of mirth, shaking her head from side to side and beating the air with her hands. 

Rilla, stung by the disagreeable attitude of the Chapleys, regained herself-possession and lost her temper. She sat up in bed and said in herhaughtiest voice, "I do not know when you were born, or where, but itmust have been somewhere where very peculiar manners were taught. Ifyou will have the decency to leave my room--er--this room--until I canget up and dress I shall not transgress upon your hospitality"--Rillawas killingly sarcastic--"any longer. And I shall pay you amply for thefood we have eaten and the night's lodging I have taken. "

The black-and-white apparition went through the motion of clapping herhands, but not a sound did she make. Perhaps Mr. Chapley was cowed byRilla's tone--or perhaps he was appeased at the prospect of payment; atall events, he spoke more civilly. 

"Well, that's fair. If you pay up it's all right. "

"She shall do no such thing as pay you, " said Madam Black-and-White ina surprisingly clear, resolute, authoritative tone of voice. "If youhaven't got any shame for yourself, Robert Chapley, you've got amother-in-law who can be ashamed for you. No strangers shall be chargedfor room and lodging in any house where Mrs. Matilda Pitman lives. Remember that, though I may have come down in the world, I haven'tquite forgot all decency for all that. I knew you was a skinflint whenAmelia married you, and you've made her as bad as yourself. But Mrs. Matilda Pitman has been boss for a long time, and Mrs. Matilda Pitmanwill remain boss. Here you, Robert Chapley, take yourself out of hereand let that girl get dressed. And you, Amelia, go downstairs and cooka breakfast for her. "

Never, in all her life, had Rilla seen anything like the abjectmeekness with which those two big people obeyed that mite. They wentwithout word or look of protest. As the door closed behind them Mrs. Matilda Pitman laughed silently, and rocked from side to side in hermerriment. 

"Ain't it funny?" she said. "I mostly lets them run the length of theirtether, but sometimes I has to pull them up, and then I does it with ajerk. They don't dast aggravate me, because I've got considerable hardcash, and they're afraid I won't leave it all to them. Neither I will. I'll leave 'em some, but some I won't, just to vex 'em. I haven't madeup my mind where I will leave it but I'll have to, soon, for at eightya body is living on borrowed time. Now, you can take your time aboutdressing, my dear, and I'll go down and keep them mean scallawags inorder. That's a handsome child you have there. Is he your brother?"

"No, he's a little war-baby I've been taking care of, because hismother died and his father was overseas, " answered Rilla in a subduedtone. 

"War-baby! Humph! Well, I'd better skin out before he wakes up or he'lllikely start crying. Children don't like me--never did. I can'trecollect any youngster ever coming near me of its own accord. Neverhad any of my own. Amelia was my step-daughter. Well, it's saved me aworld of bother. If kids don't like me I don't like them, so that's aneven score. But that certainly is a handsome child. "

Jims chose this moment for waking up. He opened his big brown eyes andlooked at Mrs. Matilda Pitman unblinkingly. Then he sat up, dimpleddeliciously, pointed to her and said solemnly to Rilla, "Pwitty lady, Willa, pwitty lady. "

Mrs. Matilda Pitman smiled. Even eighty-odd is sometimes vulnerable invanity. "I've heard that children and fools tell the truth, " she said. "I was used to compliments when I was young--but they're scarcer whenyou get as far along as I am. I haven't had one for years. It tastesgood. I s'pose now, you monkey, you wouldn't give me a kiss. "

Then Jims did a quite surprising thing. He was not a demonstrativeyoungster and was chary with kisses even to the Ingleside people. Butwithout a word he stood up in bed, his plump little body encased onlyin his undershirt, ran to the footboard, flung his arms about Mrs. Matilda Pitman's neck, and gave her a bear hug, accompanied by three orfour hearty, ungrudging smacks. 

"Jims, " protested Rilla, aghast at this liberty. 

"You leave him be, " ordered Mrs. Matilda Pitman, setting her bonnetstraight. 

"Laws I like to see some one that isn't skeered of me. Everybodyis--you are, though you're trying to hide it. And why? Of course Robertand Amelia are because I make 'em skeered on purpose. But folks alwaysare--no matter how civil I be to them. Are you going to keep thischild?"

"I'm afraid not. His father is coming home before long. "

"Is he any good--the father, I mean?"

"Well--he's kind and nice--but he's poor--and I'm afraid he always willbe, " faltered Rilla. 

"I see--shiftless--can't make or keep. Well, I'll see--I'll see. I havean idea. It's a good idea, and besides it will make Robert and Ameliasquirm. That's its main merit in my eyes, though I like that child, mind you, because he ain't skeered of me. He's worth some bother. Now, you get dressed, as I said before, and come down when you're good andready. "

Rilla was stiff and sore after her tumble and walk of the night beforebut she was not long in dressing herself and Jims. When she went downto the kitchen she found a smoking hot breakfast on the table. Mr. Chapley was nowhere in sight and Mrs. Chapley was cutting bread with asulky air. Mrs. Matilda Pitman was sitting in an armchair, knitting agrey army sock. She still wore her bonnet and her triumphant expression. 

"Set right in, dears, and make a good breakfast, " she said. 

"I am not hungry, " said Rilla almost pleadingly. "I don't think I caneat anything. And it is time I was starting for the station. Themorning train will soon be along. Please excuse me and let us go--I'lltake a piece of bread and butter for Jims. "

Mrs. Matilda Pitman shook a knitting-needle playfully at Rilla. 

"Sit down and take your breakfast, " she said. "Mrs. Matilda Pitmancommands you. Everybody obeys Mrs. Matilda Pitman--even Robert andAmelia. You must obey her too. "

Rilla did obey her. She sat down and, such was the influence of Mrs. Matilda Pitman's mesmeric eye, she ate a tolerable breakfast. Theobedient Amelia never spoke; Mrs. Matilda Pitman did not speak either;but she knitted furiously and chuckled. When Rilla had finished, Mrs. Matilda Pitman rolled up her sock. 

"Now you can go if you want to, " she said, "but you don't have to go. You can stay here as long as you want to and I'll make Amelia cook yourmeals for you. "

The independent Miss Blythe, whom a certain clique of Junior Red Crossgirls accused of being domineering and "bossy, " was thoroughly cowed. 

"Thank you, " she said meekly, "but we must really go. "

"Well, then, " said Mrs. Matilda Pitman, throwing open the door, "yourconveyance is ready for you. I told Robert he must hitch up and driveyou to the station. I enjoy making Robert do things. It's almost theonly sport I have left. I'm over eighty and most things have lost theirflavour except bossing Robert. "

Robert sat before the door on the front seat of a trim, double-seated, rubber-tired buggy. He must have heard every word his mother-in-lawsaid but he gave no sign. 

"I do wish, " said Rilla, plucking up what little spirit she had left, "that you would let me--oh--ah--" then she quailed again before Mrs. Matilda Pitman's eye--"recompense you for--for--"

"Mrs. Matilda Pitman said before--and meant it--that she doesn't takepay for entertaining strangers, nor let other people where she lives doit, much as their natural meanness would like to do it. You go along totown and don't forget to call the next time you come this way. Don't bescared. Not that you are scared of much, I reckon, considering the wayyou sassed Robert back this morning. I like your spunk. Most girlsnowadays are such timid, skeery creeturs. When I was a girl I wasn'tafraid of nothing nor nobody. Mind you take good care of that boy. Heain't any common child. And make Robert drive round all the puddles inthe road. I won't have that new buggy splashed. "

As they drove away Jims threw kisses at Mrs. Matilda Pitman as long ashe could see her, and Mrs. Matilda Pitman waved her sock back at him. Robert spoke no word, either good or bad, all the way to the station, but he remembered the puddles. When Rilla got out at the siding shethanked him courteously. The only response she got was a grunt asRobert turned his horse and started for home. 

"Well"--Rilla drew a long breath--"I must try to get back into RillaBlythe again. I've been somebody else these past few hours--I don'tknow just who--some creation of that extraordinary old person's. Ibelieve she hypnotized me. What an adventure this will be to write theboys. "

And then she sighed. Bitter remembrance came that there were onlyJerry, Ken, Carl and Shirley to write it to now. Jem--who would haveappreciated Mrs. Matilda Pitman keenly--where was Jem?

CHAPTER XXXII

WORD FROM JEM

4th August 1918

"It is four years tonight since the dance at the lighthouse--four yearsof war. It seems like three times four. I was fifteen then. I amnineteen now. I expected that these past four years would be the mostdelightful years of my life and they have been years of war--years offear and grief and worry--but I humbly hope, of a little growth instrength and character as well. 

"Today I was going through the hall and I heard mother saying somethingto father about me. I didn't mean to listen--I couldn't help hearingher as I went along the hall and upstairs--so perhaps that is why Iheard what listeners are said never to hear--something good of myself. And because it was mother who said it I'm going to write it here in myjournal, for my comforting when days of discouragement come upon me, inwhich I feel that I am vain and selfish and weak and that there is nogood thing in me. 

"'Rilla has developed in a wonderful fashion these past four years. Sheused to be such an irresponsible young creature. She has changed into acapable, womanly girl and she is such a comfort to me. Nan and Di havegrown a little away from me--they have been so little at home--butRilla has grown closer and closer to me. We are chums. I don't see howI could have got through these terrible years without her, Gilbert. '

"There, that is just what mother said--and I feel glad--and sorry--andproud--and humble! It's beautiful to have my mother think that aboutme--but I don't deserve it quite. I'm not as good and strong as allthat. There are heaps of times when I have felt cross and impatient andwoeful and despairing. It is mother and Susan who have been thisfamily's backbone. But I have helped a little, I believe, and I am soglad and thankful. 

"The war news has been good right along. The French and Americans arepushing the Germans back and back and back. Sometimes I am afraid it istoo good to last--after nearly four years of disasters one has afeeling that this constant success is unbelievable. We don't rejoicenoisily over it. Susan keeps the flag up but we go softly. The pricepaid has been too high for jubilation. We are just thankful that it hasnot been paid in vain. 

"No word has come from Jem. We hope--because we dare not do anythingelse. But there are hours when we all feel--though we never sayso--that such hoping is foolishness. These hours come more and morefrequently as the weeks go by. And we may never know. That is the mostterrible thought of all. I wonder how Faith is bearing it. To judgefrom her letters she has never for a moment given up hope, but she musthave had her dark hours of doubt like the rest of us. "

20th August 1918

"The Canadians have been in action again and Mr. Meredith had acable today saying that Carl had been slightly wounded and is inthe hospital. It did not say where the wound was, which is unusual, and we all feel worried. There is news of a fresh victory everyday now. "

30th August 1918

"The Merediths had a letter from Carl today. His wound was "only aslight one"--but it was in his right eye and the sight is gone forever!

"'One eye is enough to watch bugs with, ' Carl writes cheerfully. And weknow it might have been oh so much worse! If it had been both eyes! ButI cried all the afternoon after I saw Carl's letter. Those beautiful, fearless blue eyes of his!

"There is one comfort--he will not have to go back to the front. He iscoming home as soon as he is out of the hospital--the first of our boysto return. When will the others come?

"And there is one who will never come. At least we will not see him ifhe does. But, oh, I think he will be there--when our Canadian soldiersreturn there will be a shadow army with them--the army of the fallen. We will not see them--but they will be there!"

1st September 1918

"Mother and I went into Charlottetown yesterday to see the movingpicture, "Hearts of the World. " I made an awful goose of myself--fatherwill never stop teasing me about it for the rest of my life. Butit all seemed so horribly real--and I was so intensely interestedthat I forgot everything but the scenes I saw enacted before myeyes. And then, quite near the last came a terribly exciting one. The heroine was struggling with a horrible German soldier who wastrying to drag her away. I knew she had a knife--I had seen her hideit, to have it in readiness--and I couldn't understand why she didn'tproduce it and finish the brute. I thought she must have forgotten it, and just at the tensest moment of the scene I lost my head altogether. I just stood right up on my feet in that crowded house and shrieked atthe top of my voice--'The knife is in your stocking--the knife is inyour stocking!'

"I created a sensation!

"The funny part was, that just as I said it, the girl did snatch outthe knife and stab the soldier with it!

"Everybody in the house laughed. I came to my senses and fell back inmy seat, overcome with mortification. Mother was shaking with laughter. I could have shaken her. Why hadn't she pulled me down and choked mebefore I had made such an idiot of myself. She protests that therewasn't time. 

"Fortunately the house was dark, and I don't believe there was anybodythere who knew me. And I thought I was becoming sensible andself-controlled and womanly! It is plain I have some distance to go yetbefore I attain that devoutly desired consummation. "

20th September 1918

"In the east Bulgaria has asked for peace, and in the west theBritish have smashed the Hindenburg line; and right here in GlenSt. Mary little Bruce Meredith has done something that I thinkwonderful--wonderful because of the love behind it. Mrs. Meredith washere tonight and told us about it--and mother and I cried, and Susangot up and clattered the things about the stove. 

"Bruce always loved Jem very devotedly, and the child has neverforgotten him in all these years. He has been as faithful in his way asDog Monday was in his. We have always told him that Jem would comeback. But it seems that he was in Carter Flagg's store last night andhe heard his Uncle Norman flatly declaring that Jem Blythe would nevercome back and that the Ingleside folk might as well give up hoping hewould. Bruce went home and cried himself to sleep. This morning hismother saw him going out of the yard, with a very sorrowful anddetermined look, carrying his pet kitten. She didn't think much moreabout it until later on he came in, with the most tragic little face, and told her, his little body shaking with sobs, that he had drownedStripey. 

"'Why did you do that?' Mrs. Meredith exclaimed. 

"'To bring Jem back, ' sobbed Bruce. 'I thought if I sacrificed StripeyGod would send Jem back. So I drownded him--and, oh mother, it wasawful hard--but surely God will send Jem back now, 'cause Stripey wasthe dearest thing I had. I just told God I would give Him Stripey if Hewould send Jem back. And He will, won't He, mother?'

"Mrs. Meredith didn't know what to say to the poor child. She justcould not tell him that perhaps his sacrifice wouldn't bring Jemback--that God didn't work that way. She told him that he mustn'texpect it right away--that perhaps it would be quite a long time yetbefore Jem came back. 

"But Bruce said, 'It oughtn't to take longer'n a week, mother. Oh, mother, Stripey was such a nice little cat. He purred so pretty. Don'tyou think God ought to like him enough to let us have Jem?"

"Mr. Meredith is worried about the effect on Bruce's faith in God, andMrs. Meredith is worried about the effect on Bruce himself if his hopeisn't fulfilled. And I feel as if I must cry every time I think of it. It was so splendid--and sad--and beautiful. The dear devoted littlefellow! He worshipped that kitten. And if it all goes for nothing--asso many sacrifices seem to go for nothing--he will be brokenhearted, for he isn't old enough to understand that God doesn't answer ourprayers just as we hope--and doesn't make bargains with us when weyield something we love up to Him. "

24th September 1918

"I have been kneeling at my window in the moonshine for a longtime, just thanking God over and over again. The joy of last nightand today has been so great that it seemed half pain--as if ourhearts weren't big enough to hold it. 

"Last night I was sitting here in my room at eleven o'clock writing aletter to Shirley. Every one else was in bed, except father, who wasout. I heard the telephone ring and I ran out to the hall to answer it, before it should waken mother. It was long-distance calling, and when Ianswered it said 'This is the telegraph Company's office inCharlottetown. There is an overseas cable for Dr. Blythe. '

"I thought of Shirley--my heart stood still--and then I heard himsaying, 'It's from Holland. '

"The message was, 'Just arrived. Escaped from Germany. Quite well. Writing. James Blythe. '

"I didn't faint or fall or scream. I didn't feel glad or surprised. Ididn't feel anything. I felt numb, just as I did when I heard Walterhad enlisted. I hung up the receiver and turned round. Mother wasstanding in her doorway. She wore her old rose kimono, and her hair washanging down her back in a long thick braid, and her eyes were shining. She looked just like a young girl. 

"'There is word from Jem?' she said. 

"How did she know? I hadn't said a word at the phone except'Yes--yes--yes. ' She says she doesn't know how she knew, but she didknow. She was awake and she heard the ring and she knew that there wasword from Jem. 

"'He's alive--he's well--he's in Holland, ' I said. 

"Mother came out into the hall and said, 'I must get your father on the'phone and tell him. He is in the Upper Glen. '

"She was very calm and quiet--not a bit like I would have expected herto be. But then I wasn't either. I went and woke up Gertrude and Susanand told them. Susan said 'Thank God, ' firstly, and secondly she said'Did I not tell you Dog Monday knew?' and thirdly, 'I'll go down andmake a cup of tea'--and she stalked down in her nightdress to make it. She did make it--and made mother and Gertrude drink it--but I went backto my room and shut my door and locked it, and I knelt by my window andcried--just as Gertrude did when her great news came. 

"I think I know at last exactly what I shall feel like on theresurrection morning. "

4th October 1918

"Today Jem's letter came. It has been in the house only six hours andit is almost read to pieces. The post-mistress told everybody in theGlen it had come, and everybody came up to hear the news. 

"Jem was badly wounded in the thigh--and he was picked up and taken toprison, so delirious with fever that he didn't know what was happeningto him or where he was. It was weeks before he came to his senses andwas able to write. Then he did write--but it never came. He wasn'ttreated at all badly at his camp--only the food was poor. He hadnothing to eat but a little black bread and boiled turnips and now andthen a little soup with black peas in it. And we sat down every one ofthose days to three good square luxurious meals! He wrote us as oftenas he could but he was afraid we were not getting his letters becauseno reply came. As soon as he was strong enough he tried to escape, butwas caught and brought back; a month later he and a comrade madeanother attempt and succeeded in reaching Holland. 

"Jem can't come home right away. He isn't quite so well as his cablesaid, for his wound has not healed properly and he has to go into ahospital in England for further treatment. But he says he will be allright eventually, and we know he is safe and will be back homesometime, and oh, the difference it makes in everything!

"I had a letter from Jim Anderson today, too. He has married an Englishgirl, got his discharge, and is coming right home to Canada with hisbride. I don't know whether to be glad or sorry. It will depend on whatkind of a woman she is. I had a second letter also of a somewhatmysterious tenor. It is from a Charlottetown lawyer, asking me to go into see him at my earliest convenience in regard to a certain matterconnected with the estate of the 'late Mrs. Matilda Pitman. '

"I read a notice of Mrs. Pitman's death--from heart failure--in theEnterprise a few weeks ago. I wonder if this summons has anything to dowith Jims. "

5th October 1918

"I went into town this morning and had an interview with Mrs. Pitman'slawyer--a little thin, wispy man, who spoke of his late client withsuch a profound respect that it is evident that he as was much underher thumb as Robert and Amelia were. He drew up a new will for her ashort time before her death. She was worth thirty thousand dollars, the bulk of which was left to Amelia Chapley. But she left fivethousand to me in trust for Jims. The interest is to be used as Isee fit for his education, and the principal is to be paid over tohim on his twentieth birthday. Certainly Jims was born lucky. I savedhim from slow extinction at the hands of Mrs. Conover--Mary Vance savedhim from death by diptheritic croup--his star saved him when he felloff the train. And he tumbled not only into a clump of bracken, butright into this nice little legacy. 

"Evidently, as Mrs. Matilda Pitman said, and as I have always believed, he is no common child and he has no common destiny in store for him. 

"At all events he is provided for, and in such a fashion that JimAnderson can't squander his inheritance if he wanted to. Now, if thenew English stepmother is only a good sort I shall feel quite easyabout the future of my war-baby. 

"I wonder what Robert and Amelia think of it. I fancy they will naildown their windows when they leave home after this!"

CHAPTER XXXIII

VICTORY!

"A day 'of chilling winds and gloomy skies, '" Rilla quoted one Sundayafternoon--the sixth of October to be exact. It was so cold that theyhad lighted a fire in the living-room and the merry little flames weredoing their best to counteract the outside dourness. "It's more likeNovember than October--November is such an ugly month. "

Cousin Sophia was there, having again forgiven Susan, and Mrs. MartinClow, who was not visiting on Sunday but had dropped in to borrowSusan's cure for rheumatism--that being cheaper than getting one fromthe doctor. "I'm afeared we're going to have an airly winter, "foreboded Cousin Sophia. "The muskrats are building awful big housesround the pond, and that's a sign that never fails. Dear me, how thatchild has grown!" Cousin Sophia sighed again, as if it were an unhappycircumstance that a child should grow. "When do you expect his father?"

"Next week, " said Rilla. 

"Well, I hope the stepmother won't abuse the pore child, " sighed CousinSophia, "but I have my doubts--I have my doubts. Anyhow, he'll be sureto feel the difference between his usage here and what he'll getanywhere else. You've spoiled him so, Rilla, waiting on him hand andfoot the way you've always done. "

Rilla smiled and pressed her cheek to Jims' curls. She knewsweet-tempered, sunny, little Jims was not spoiled. Nevertheless herheart was anxious behind her smile. She, too, thought much about thenew Mrs. Anderson and wondered uneasily what she would be like. 

"I can't give Jims up to a woman who won't love him, " she thoughtrebelliously. 

"I b'lieve it's going to rain, " said Cousin Sophia. "We have had anawful lot of rain this fall already. It's going to make it awful hardfor people to get their roots in. It wasn't so in my young days. Wegin'rally had beautiful Octobers then. But the seasons is altogetherdifferent now from what they used to be. " Clear across Cousin Sophia'sdoleful voice cut the telephone bell. Gertrude Oliver answered it. "Yes--what? What? Is it true--is it official? Thank you--thank you. "

Gertrude turned and faced the room dramatically, her dark eyesflashing, her dark face flushed with feeling. All at once the sun brokethrough the thick clouds and poured through the big crimson mapleoutside the window. Its reflected glow enveloped her in a weirdimmaterial flame. She looked like a priestess performing some mystic, splendid rite. 

"Germany and Austria are suing for peace, " she said. 

Rilla went crazy for a few minutes. She sprang up and danced around theroom, clapping her hands, laughing, crying. 

"Sit down, child, " said Mrs. Clow, who never got excited over anything, and so had missed a tremendous amount of trouble and delight in herjourney through life. 

"Oh, " cried Rilla, "I have walked the floor for hours in despair andanxiety in these past four years. Now let me walk in joy. It was worthliving long dreary years for this minute, and it would be worth livingthem again just to look back to it. Susan, let's run up the flag--andwe must phone the news to every one in the Glen. "

"Can we have as much sugar as we want to now?" asked Jims eagerly. 

It was a never-to-be-forgotten afternoon. As the news spread excitedpeople ran about the village and dashed up to Ingleside. The Meredithscame over and stayed to supper and everybody talked and nobodylistened. Cousin Sophia tried to protest that Germany and Austria werenot to be trusted and it was all part of a plot, but nobody paid theleast attention to her. 

"This Sunday makes up for that one in March, " said Susan. 

"I wonder, " said Gertrude dreamily, apart to Rilla, "if things won'tseem rather flat and insipid when peace really comes. After being fedfor four years on horrors and fears, terrible reverses, amazingvictories, won't anything less be tame and uninteresting? Howstrange--and blessed--and dull it will be not to dread the coming ofthe mail every day. "

"We must dread it for a little while yet, I suppose, " said Rilla. "Peace won't come--can't come--for some weeks yet. And in those weeksdreadful things may happen. My excitement is over. We have won thevictory--but oh, what a price we have paid!"

"Not too high a price for freedom, " said Gertrude softly. "Do you thinkit was, Rilla?"

"No, " said Rilla, under her breath. She was seeing a little white crosson a battlefield of France. "No--not if those of us who live will showourselves worthy of it--if we 'keep faith. '"

"We will keep faith, " said Gertrude. She rose suddenly. A silence fellaround the table, and in the silence Gertrude repeated Walter's famouspoem "The Piper. " When she finished Mr. Meredith stood up and held uphis glass. "Let us drink, " he said, "to the silent army--to the boyswho followed when the Piper summoned. 'For our tomorrow they gave theirtoday'--theirs is the victory!"

CHAPTER XXXIV

MR. HYDE GOES TO HIS OWN PLACE AND SUSAN TAKES A HONEYMOON

Early in November Jims left Ingleside. Rilla saw him go with many tearsbut a heart free from boding. Mrs. Jim Anderson, Number Two, was such anice little woman that one was rather inclined to wonder at the luckwhich bestowed her on Jim. She was rosy-faced and blue-eyed andwholesome, with the roundness and trigness of a geranium leaf. Rillasaw at first glance that she was to be trusted with Jims. 

"I'm fond of children, miss, " she said heartily. "I'm used tothem--I've left six little brothers and sisters behind me. Jims is adear child and I must say you've done wonders in bringing him up sohealthy and handsome. I'll be as good to him as if he was my own, miss. And I'll make Jim toe the line all right. He's a good worker--all heneeds is some one to keep him at it, and to take charge of his money. We've rented a little farm just out of the village, and we're going tosettle down there. Jim wanted to stay in England but I says 'No. ' Ihankered to try a new country and I've always thought Canada would suitme. "

"I'm so glad you are going to live near us. You'll let Jims come hereoften, won't you? I love him dearly. "

"No doubt you do, miss, for a lovabler child I never did see. Weunderstand, Jim and me, what you've done for him, and you won't find usungrateful. He can come here whenever you want him and I'll always beglad of any advice from you about his bringing up. He is more your babythan anyone else's I should say, and I'll see that you get your fairshare of him, miss. "

So Jims went away--with the soup tureen, though not in it. Then thenews of the Armistice came, and even Glen St. Mary went mad. That nightthe village had a bonfire, and burned the Kaiser in effigy. The fishingvillage boys turned out and burned all the sandhills off in one grandglorious conflagration that extended for seven miles. Up at InglesideRilla ran laughing to her room. 

"Now I'm going to do a most unladylike and inexcusable thing, " shesaid, as she pulled her green velvet hat out of its box. "I'm going tokick this hat about the room until it is without form and void; and Ishall never as long as I live wear anything of that shade of greenagain. "

"You've certainly kept your vow pluckily, " laughed Miss Oliver. 

"It wasn't pluck--it was sheer obstinacy--I'm rather ashamed of it, "said Rilla, kicking joyously. "I wanted to show mother. It's mean towant to show your own mother--most unfilial conduct! But I have shownher. And I've shown myself a few things! Oh, Miss Oliver, just for onemoment I'm really feeling quite young again--young and frivolous andsilly. Did I ever say November was an ugly month? Why it's the mostbeautiful month in the whole year. Listen to the bells ringing inRainbow Valley! I never heard them so clearly. They're ringing forpeace--and new happiness--and all the dear, sweet, sane, homey thingsthat we can have again now, Miss Oliver. Not that I am sane just now--Idon't pretend to be. The whole world is having a little crazy spelltoday. Soon we'll sober down--and 'keep faith'--and begin to build upour new world. But just for today let's be mad and glad. "

Susan came in from the outdoor sunlight looking supremely satisfied. 

"Mr. Hyde is gone, " she announced. 

"Gone! Do you mean he is dead, Susan?"

"No, Mrs. Dr. Dear, that beast is not dead. But you will never see himagain. I feel sure of that. "

"Don't be so mysterious, Susan. What has happened to him?"

"Well, Mrs. Dr. Dear, he was sitting out on the back steps thisafternoon. It was just after the news came that the Armistice had beensigned and he was looking his Hydest. I can assure you he was anawesome looking beast. All at once, Mrs. Dr. Dear, Bruce Meredith camearound the corner of the kitchen walking on his stilts. He has beenlearning to walk on them lately and came over to show me how well hecould do it. Mr. Hyde just took a look and one bound carried him overthe yard fence. Then he went tearing through the maple grove in greatleaps with his ears laid back. You never saw a creature so terrified, Mrs. Dr. Dear. He has never returned. "

"Oh, he'll come back, Susan, probably chastened in spirit by hisfright. "

"We will see, Mrs. Dr. Dear--we will see. Remember, the Armistice hasbeen signed. And that reminds me that Whiskers-on-the-moon had aparalytic stroke last night. I am not saying it is a judgment on him, because I am not in the counsels of the Almighty, but one can haveone's own thoughts about it. Neither Whiskers-on-the-moon or Mr. Hydewill be much more heard of in Glen St. Mary, Mrs. Dr. Dear, and thatyou may tie to. "

Mr. Hyde certainly was heard of no more. As it could hardly have beenhis fright that kept him away the Ingleside folk decided that some darkfate of shot or poison had descended on him--except Susan, who believedand continued to affirm that he had merely "gone to his own place. "Rilla lamented him, for she had been very fond of her stately goldenpussy, and had liked him quite as well in his weird Hyde moods as inhis tame Jekyll ones. 

"And now, Mrs. Dr. Dear, " said Susan, "since the fall house-cleaning isover and the garden truck is all safe in cellar, I am going to take ahoneymoon to celebrate the peace. "

"A honeymoon, Susan?"

"Yes, Mrs. Dr. Dear, a honeymoon, " repeated Susan firmly. "I shallnever be able to get a husband but I am not going to be cheated out ofeverything and a honeymoon I intend to have. I am going toCharlottetown to visit my married brother and his family. His wife hasbeen ailing all the fall, but nobody knows whether she is going to dienot. She never did tell anyone what she was going to do until she didit. That is the main reason why she was never liked in our family. Butto be on the safe side I feel that I should visit her. I have not beenin town for over a day for twenty years and I have a feeling that Imight as well see one of those moving pictures there is so much talkof, so as not to be wholly out of the swim. But have no fear that Ishall be carried away with them, Mrs. Dr. Dear. I shall be away afortnight if you can spare me so long. "

"You certainly deserve a good holiday, Susan. Better take a month--thatis the proper length for a honeymoon. "

"No, Mrs. Dr. Dear, a fortnight is all I require. Besides, I must behome for at least three weeks before Christmas to make the properpreparations. We will have a Christmas that is a Christmas this year, Mrs. Dr. Dear. Do you think there is any chance of our boys being homefor it?"

"No, I think not, Susan. Both Jem and Shirley write that they don'texpect to be home before spring--it may be even midsummer beforeShirley comes. But Carl Meredith will be home, and Nan and Di, and wewill have a grand celebration once more. We'll set chairs for all, Susan, as you did our first war Christmas--yes, for all--for my dearlad whose chair must always be vacant, as well as for the others, Susan. "

"It is not likely I would forget to set his place, Mrs. Dr. Dear, " saidSusan, wiping her eyes as she departed to pack up for her "honeymoon. "

CHAPTER XXXV

"RILLA-MY-RILLA!"

Carl Meredith and Miller Douglas came home just before Christmas andGlen St. Mary met them at the station with a brass band borrowed fromLowbridge and speeches of home manufacture. Miller was brisk andbeaming in spite of his wooden leg; he had developed into abroad-shouldered, imposing looking fellow and the D. C. Medal he worereconciled Miss Cornelia to the shortcomings of his pedigree to such adegree that she tacitly recognized his engagement to Mary. 

The latter put on a few airs--especially when Carter Flagg took Millerinto his store as head clerk--but nobody grudged them to her. 

"Of course farming's out of the question for us now, " she told Rilla, "but Miller thinks he'll like storekeeping fine once he gets used to aquiet life again, and Carter Flagg will be a more agreeable boss thanold Kitty. We're going to be married in the fall and live in the oldMead house with the bay windows and the mansard roof. I've alwaysthought that the handsomest house in the Glen, but never did I dreamI'd ever live there. We're only renting it, of course, but if things goas we expect and Carter Flagg takes Miller into partnership we'll ownit some day. Say, I've got on some in society, haven't I, consideringwhat I come from? I never aspired to being a storekeeper's wife. ButMiller's real ambitious and he'll have a wife that'll back him up. Hesays he never saw a French girl worth looking at twice and that hisheart beat true to me every moment he was away. "

Jerry Meredith and Joe Milgrave came back in January, and all winterthe boys from the Glen and its environs came home by twos and threes. None of them came back just as they went away, not even those who hadbeen so fortunate as to escape injury. 

One spring day, when the daffodils were blowing on the Ingleside lawn, and the banks of the brook in Rainbow Valley were sweet with white andpurple violets, the little, lazy afternoon accommodation train pulledinto the Glen station. It was very seldom that passengers for the Glencame by that train, so nobody was there to meet it except the newstation agent and a small black-and-yellow dog, who for four and a halfyears had met every train that had steamed into Glen St. Mary. Thousands of trains had Dog Monday met and never had the boy he waitedand watched for returned. Yet still Dog Monday watched on with eyesthat never quite lost hope. Perhaps his dog-heart failed him at times;he was growing old and rheumatic; when he walked back to his kennelafter each train had gone his gait was very sober now--he never trottedbut went slowly with a drooping head and a depressed tail that hadquite lost its old saucy uplift. 

One passenger stepped off the train--a tall fellow in a fadedlieutenant's uniform, who walked with a barely perceptible limp. He hada bronzed face and there were some grey hairs in the ruddy curls thatclustered around his forehead. The new station agent looked at himanxiously. He was used to seeing the khaki-clad figures come off thetrain, some met by a tumultuous crowd, others, who had sent no word oftheir coming, stepping off quietly like this one. But there was acertain distinction of bearing and features in this soldier that caughthis attention and made him wonder a little more interestedly who he was. 

A black-and-yellow streak shot past the station agent. Dog Mondaystiff? Dog Monday rheumatic? Dog Monday old? Never believe it. DogMonday was a young pup, gone clean mad with rejuvenating joy. 

He flung himself against the tall soldier, with a bark that choked inhis throat from sheer rapture. He flung himself on the ground andwrithed in a frenzy of welcome. He tried to climb the soldier's khakilegs and slipped down and groveled in an ecstasy that seemed as if itmust tear his little body in pieces. He licked his boots and when thelieutenant had, with laughter on his lips and tears in his eyes, succeeded in gathering the little creature up in his arms Dog Mondaylaid his head on the khaki shoulder and licked the sunburned neck, making queer sounds between barks and sobs. 

The station agent had heard the story of Dog Monday. He knew now whothe returned soldier was. Dog Monday's long vigil was ended. Jem Blythehad come home. 

"We are all very happy--and sad--and thankful, " wrote Rilla in herdiary a week later, "though Susan has not yet recovered--never willrecover, I believe--from the shock of having Jem come home the verynight she had, owing to a strenuous day, prepared a 'pick up' supper. Ishall never forget the sight of her, tearing madly about from pantry tocellar, hunting out stored away goodies. Just as if anybody cared whatwas on the table--none of us could eat, anyway. It was meat and drinkjust to look at Jem. Mother seemed afraid to take her eyes off him lesthe vanish out of her sight. It is wonderful to have Jem back--andlittle Dog Monday. Monday refuses to be separated from Jem for amoment. He sleeps on the foot of his bed and squats beside him atmeal-times. And on Sunday he went to church with him and insisted ongoing right into our pew, where he went to sleep on Jem's feet. In themiddle of the sermon he woke up and seemed to think he must welcome Jemall over again, for he bounded up with a series of barks and wouldn'tquiet down until Jem took him up in his arms. But nobody seemed tomind, and Mr. Meredith came and patted his head after the service andsaid, "'Faith and affection and loyalty are precious things whereverthey are found. That little dog's love is a treasure, Jem. '

"One night when Jem and I were talking things over in Rainbow Valley, Iasked him if he had ever felt afraid at the front. 

"Jem laughed. 

"'Afraid! I was afraid scores of times--sick with fear--I who used tolaugh at Walter when he was frightened. Do you know, Walter was neverfrightened after he got to the front. Realities never scared him--onlyhis imagination could do that. His colonel told me that Walter was thebravest man in the regiment. Rilla, I never realized that Walter wasdead till I came back home. You don't know how I miss him now--youfolks here have got used to it in a sense--but it's all fresh to me. Walter and I grew up together--we were chums as well as brothers--andnow here, in this old valley we loved when we were children, it hascome home to me that I'm not to see him again. '

"Jem is going back to college in the fall and so are Jerry and Carl. Isuppose Shirley will, too. He expects to be home in July. Nan and Diwill go on teaching. Faith doesn't expect to be home before September. I suppose she will teach then too, for she and Jem can't be marrieduntil he gets through his course in medicine. Una Meredith has decided, I think, to take a course in Household Science at Kingsport--andGertrude is to be married to her Major and is frankly happy aboutit--'shamelessly happy' she says; but I think her attitude is verybeautiful. They are all talking of their plans and hopes--more soberlythan they used to do long ago, but still with interest, and adetermination to carry on and make good in spite of lost years. 

"'We're in a new world, ' Jem says, 'and we've got to make it a betterone than the old. That isn't done yet, though some folks seem to thinkit ought to be. The job isn't finished--it isn't really begun. The oldworld is destroyed and we must build up the new one. It will be thetask of years. I've seen enough of war to realize that we've got tomake a world where wars can't happen. We've given Prussianism itsmortal wound but it isn't dead yet and it isn't confined to Germanyeither. It isn't enough to drive out the old spirit--we've got to bringin the new. '

"I'm writing down those words of Jem's in my diary so that I can readthem over occasionally and get courage from them, when moods come whenI find it not so easy to 'keep faith. '"

Rilla closed her journal with a little sigh. Just then she was notfinding it easy to keep faith. All the rest seemed to have some specialaim or ambition about which to build up their lives--she had none. Andshe was very lonely, horribly lonely. Jem had come back--but he was notthe laughing boy-brother who had gone away in 1914 and he belonged toFaith. Walter would never come back. She had not even Jims left. All atonce her world seemed wide and empty--that is, it had seemed wide andempty from the moment yesterday when she had read in a Montreal paper afortnight-old list of returned soldiers in which was the name ofCaptain Kenneth Ford. 

So Ken was home--and he had not even written her that he was coming. Hehad been in Canada two weeks and she had not had a line from him. Ofcourse he had forgotten--if there was ever anything to forget--ahandclasp--a kiss--a look--a promise asked under the influence of apassing emotion. It was all absurd--she had been a silly, romantic, inexperienced goose. Well, she would be wiser in the future--verywise--and very discreet--and very contemptuous of men and their ways. 

"I suppose I'd better go with Una and take up Household Science too, "she thought, as she stood by her window and looked down through adelicate emerald tangle of young vines on Rainbow Valley, lying in awonderful lilac light of sunset. There did not seem anything veryattractive just then about Household Science, but, with a whole newworld waiting to be built, a girl must do something. 

The door bell rang, Rilla turned reluctantly stairwards. She mustanswer it--there was no one else in the house; but she hated the ideaof callers just then. She went downstairs slowly, and opened the frontdoor. 

A man in khaki was standing on the steps--a tall fellow, with dark eyesand hair, and a narrow white scar running across his brown cheek. Rillastared at him foolishly for a moment. Who was it?

She ought to know him--there was certainly something very familiarabout him--"Rilla-my-Rilla, " he said. 

"Ken, " gasped Rilla. Of course, it was Ken--but he looked so mucholder--he was so much changed--that scar--the lines about his eyes andlips--her thoughts went whirling helplessly. 

Ken took the uncertain hand she held out, and looked at her. The slimRilla of four years ago had rounded out into symmetry. He had left aschool girl, and he found a woman--a woman with wonderful eyes and adented lip, and rose-bloom cheek--a woman altogether beautiful anddesirable--the woman of his dreams. 

"Is it Rilla-my-Rilla?" he asked, meaningly. 

Emotion shook Rilla from head to foot. Joy--happiness--sorrow--fear--every passion that had wrung her heart inthose four long years seemed to surge up in her soul for a moment asthe deeps of being were stirred. She had tried to speak; at first voicewould not come. Then--"Yeth, " said Rilla.