Rilla of Ingleside by Lucy Maud Montgomery Page A

minister.
    "There's certainly something about uniforms," sighed Irene Howard.
    "It's a commercial war when all is said and done and not worth one drop of 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 Nathan Crawford.
    "I have absolute confidence in Kitchener," said the over-harbour doctor.
    In these ten minutes Rilla passed through a dizzying succession of anger, laughter, contempt, depression and inspiration. Oh, people were-- funny! How little they understood. "Taking it easy," indeed--when even 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 the people who, three weeks ago, were talking of crops and prices and local gossip?
    There--the train was coming--mother was holding Jem's hand--Dog Monday was licking it--everybody was saying good-bye--the train was in! Jem kissed Faith before everybody--old Mrs. Drew whooped hysterically--the men, led by Kenneth, cheered--Rilla felt Jem seize her hand--"Good-bye, Spider"--somebody kissed her cheek--she believed it was Jerry but never was sure--they were off--the train was pulling out--Jem and Jerry were waving to everybody--everybody was waving back --mother and Nan were smiling still, but as if they had just forgotten to take the smile off--Monday was howling dismally and being forcibly restrained by the Methodist minister from tearing after the train-- Susan was waving her best bonnet and hurrahing like a man--had she gone crazy?--the train rounded a curve. They had gone.
    Rilla came to herself with a gasp. There was a sudden quiet. Nothing to do now but to go home--and wait. The doctor and Mrs. Blythe walked off together--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, and stalked grimly off alone. Nobody missed Dog Monday at first. When they did Shirley went back for him. He found Dog Monday curled up in one of the shipping-sheds near the station and tried to coax him home. Dog Monday would not move. He wagged his tail to show he had no hard feelings 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 exactly what Dog Monday had done. His dear master had gone--he, Monday, had been deliberately and of malice aforethought prevented from going with him by a demon disguised in the garb of a Methodist minister. Wherefore, he, Monday, would wait there until the smoking, snorting monster, which had carried his hero off, carried him back.
    Ay, wait there, little faithful dog with the soft, wistful, puzzled eyes. But it will be many a long bitter day before your boyish comrade comes 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 bed and 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 was manifestly unfair, since she had not laughed when Rilla had announced a similar heroic determination. To be sure, Rilla was a slim, white-robed thing, with a flower-like face and starry young eyes aglow with feeling; whereas Susan was arrayed in a grey flannel nightgown of strait simplicity, and had a strip of red woollen worsted tied around her grey hair as a charm against neuralgia. But that should not make any 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 or question the wisdom of the Almighty any more as I have been doing lately. Whining and