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faltered Rilla.

ā€œI seeā€”shiftlessā€”canā€™t make or keep. Well, Iā€™ll seeā€”Iā€™ll see. I have an idea. Itā€™s a good idea, and besides it will make Robert and Amelia squirm. Thatā€™s its main merit in my eyes, though I like that child, mind you, because he ainā€™t skeered of me. Heā€™s worth some bother. Now, you get dressed, as I said before, and come down when youā€™re good and ready.ā€

Rilla was stiff and sore after her tumble and walk of the night before but she was not long in dressing herself and Jims. When she went down to the kitchen she found a smoking hot breakfast on the table. Mr. Chapley was nowhere in sight and Mrs. Chapley was cutting bread with a sulky air. Mrs. Matilda Pitman was sitting in an armchair, knitting a grey army sock. She still wore her bonnet and her triumphant expression.

ā€œSet right in, dears, and make a good breakfast,ā€ she said.

ā€œI am not hungry,ā€ said Rilla almost pleadingly. ā€œI donā€™t think I can eat anything. And it is time I was starting for the station. The morning train will soon be along. Please excuse me and let us goā€”Iā€™ll take a piece of bread and butter for Jims.ā€

Mrs. Matilda Pitman shook a knitting-needle playfully at Rilla.

ā€œSit down and take your breakfast,ā€ she said. ā€œMrs. Matilda Pitman commands you. Everybody obeys Mrs. Matilda Pitmanā€”even Robert and Amelia. You must obey her too.ā€

Rilla did obey her. She sat down and, such was the influence of Mrs. Matilda Pitmanā€™s mesmeric eye, she ate a tolerable breakfast. The obedient 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.

ā€œNow you can go if you want to,ā€ she said, ā€œbut you donā€™t have to go. You can stay here as long as you want to and Iā€™ll make Amelia cook your meals for you.ā€

The independent Miss Blythe, whom a certain clique of Junior Red Cross girls accused of being domineering and ā€œbossy,ā€ was thoroughly cowed.

ā€œThank you,ā€ she said meekly, ā€œbut we must really go.ā€

ā€œWell, then,ā€ said Mrs. Matilda Pitman, throwing open the door, ā€œyour conveyance is ready for you. I told Robert he must hitch up and drive you to the station. I enjoy making Robert do things. Itā€™s almost the only sport I have left. Iā€™m over eighty and most things have lost their flavour except bossing Robert.ā€

Robert sat before the door on the front seat of a trim, double-seated, rubber-tired buggy. He must have heard every word his motherin-law said but he gave no sign.

ā€œI do wish,ā€ said Rilla, plucking up what little spirit she had left, ā€œthat you would let meā€”ohā€”ahā€”ā€ then she quailed again before Mrs. Matilda Pitmanā€™s eyeā€”ā€œrecompense you forā€”forā€”ā€

ā€œMrs. Matilda Pitman said beforeā€”and meant itā€”that she doesnā€™t take pay for entertaining strangers, nor let other people where she lives do it, much as their natural meanness would like to do it. You go along to town and donā€™t forget to call the next time you come this way. Donā€™t be scared. Not that you are scared of much, I reckon, considering the way you sassed Robert back this morning. I like your spunk. Most girls nowadays are such timid, skeery creeturs. When I was a girl I wasnā€™t afraid of nothing nor nobody. Mind you take good care of that boy. He ainā€™t any common child. And make Robert drive round all the puddles in the road. I wonā€™t have that new buggy splashed.ā€

As they drove away Jims threw kisses at Mrs. Matilda Pitman as long as he 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 she thanked him courteously. The only response she got was a grunt as Robert turned his horse and started for home.

ā€œWellā€ā€”Rilla drew a long breathā€”ā€œI must try to get back into Rilla Blythe again. Iā€™ve been somebody else these past few hoursā€”I donā€™t know just whoā€”some creation of that extraordinary old personā€™s. I believe she hypnotized me. What an adventure this will be to write the boys.ā€

And then she sighed. Bitter remembrance came that there were only Jerry, Ken, Carl and Shirley to write it to now. Jemā€”who would have appreciated Mrs. Matilda Pitman keenlyā€”where was Jem?

CHAPTER XXXII WORD FROM JEM

4th August 1918 ā€œIt is four years tonight since the dance at the lighthouseā€”four years of war. It seems like three times four. I was fifteen then. I am nineteen now. I expected that these past four years would be the most delightful years of my life and they have been years of warā€”years of fear and grief and worryā€”but I humbly hope, of a little growth in strength and character as well.

ā€œToday I was going through the hall and I heard mother saying something to father about me. I didnā€™t mean to listenā€”I couldnā€™t help hearing her as I went along the hall and upstairsā€”so perhaps that is why I heard what listeners are said never to hearā€”something good of myself. And because it was mother who said it Iā€™m going to write it here in my journal, for my comforting when days of discouragement come upon me, in which I feel that I am vain and selfish and weak and that there is no good thing in me.

ā€œā€˜Rilla has developed in a wonderful fashion these past four years. She used to be such an irresponsible young creature. She has changed into a capable, womanly girl and she is such a comfort to me. Nan and Di have grown a little away from meā€”they have been so little at homeā€”but Rilla has grown closer and closer to me. We are chums. I donā€™t see how I could have got through these terrible years without her, Gilbert.ā€™

ā€œThere, that is just what mother saidā€”and I feel gladā€”and sorryā€” and proudā€”and humble! Itā€™s beautiful to have my mother think that about meā€”but I donā€™t deserve it quite. Iā€™m not as good and strong as all that. There are heaps of times when I have felt cross and impatient and woeful and despairing. It is mother and Susan who have been this familyā€™s backbone. But I have helped a little, I believe, and I am so glad and thankful.

ā€œThe war news has been good right along. The French and Americans are pushing the Germans back and back and back. Sometimes I am afraid it is too good to lastā€”after nearly four years of disasters one has a feeling that this constant success is unbelievable. We donā€™t rejoice noisily over it. Susan keeps the flag up but we go softly. The price paid has been too high for jubilation. We are just thankful that it has not been paid in vain.

ā€œNo word has come from Jem. We hopeā€”because we dare not do anything else. But there are hours when we all feelā€”though we never say soā€” that such hoping is foolishness. These hours come more and more frequently as the weeks go by. And we may never know. That is the most terrible thought of all. I wonder how Faith is bearing it. To judge from her letters she has never for a moment given up hope, but she must have had her dark hours of doubt like the rest of us.ā€

20th August 1918 ā€œThe Canadians have been in action again and Mr. Meredith had a cable today saying that Carl had been slightly wounded and is in the hospital. It did not say where the wound was, which is unusual, and we all feel worried. There is news of a fresh victory every day now.ā€

30th August 1918 ā€œThe Merediths had a letter from Carl today. His wound was ā€œonly a slight oneā€ā€”but it was in his right eye and the sight is gone for ever!

ā€œā€˜One eye is enough to watch bugs with,ā€™ Carl writes cheerfully. And we know it might have been oh so much worse! If it had been both eyes! But I cried all the afternoon after I saw Carlā€™s letter. Those beautiful, fearless blue eyes of his!

ā€œThere is one comfortā€”he will not have to go back to the front. He is coming home as soon as he is out of the hospitalā€”the first of our boys to return. When will the others come?

ā€œAnd there is one who will never come. At least we will not see him if he does. But, oh, I think he will be thereā€”when our Canadian soldiers return there will be a shadow army with themā€”the army of the fallen. We will not see themā€”but they will be there!ā€

1st September 1918 ā€œMother and I went into Charlottetown yesterday to see the moving picture, ā€œHearts of the World.ā€ I made an awful goose of myselfā€”father will never stop teasing me about it for the rest of my life. But it all seemed so horribly realā€”and I was so intensely interested that I forgot everything but the scenes I saw enacted before my eyes. And then, quite near the last came a terribly exciting one. The heroine was struggling with a horrible German soldier who was trying to drag her away. I knew she had a knifeā€”I had seen her hide it, to have it in readinessā€”and I couldnā€™t understand why she didnā€™t produce 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 at the top of my voiceā€”ā€˜The knife is in your stockingā€”the knife is in your stocking!ā€™

ā€œI created a sensation!

ā€œThe funny part was, that just as I said it, the girl did snatch out the knife and stab the soldier with it!

ā€œEverybody in the house laughed. I came to my senses and fell back in my seat, overcome with mortification. Mother was shaking with laughter. I could have shaken her. Why hadnā€™t she pulled me down and choked me before I had made such an idiot of myself. She protests that there wasnā€™t time.

ā€œFortunately the house was dark, and I donā€™t believe there was anybody there who knew me. And I thought I was becoming sensible and self-controlled and womanly! It is plain I have some distance to go yet before I attain that devoutly desired consummation.ā€

20th September 1918 ā€œIn the east Bulgaria has asked for peace, and in the west the British have smashed the Hindenburg line; and right here in Glen St. Mary little Bruce Meredith has done something that I think wonderfulā€”wonderful because of the love behind it. Mrs. Meredith was here tonight and told us about itā€”and mother and I cried, and Susan got up and clattered the things about the stove.

ā€œBruce always loved Jem very devotedly, and the child has never forgotten him in all these years. He has been as faithful in his way as Dog Monday was in his. We have always told him that Jem would come back. But it seems that he was in Carter Flaggā€™s store last night and he heard his Uncle Norman flatly declaring that Jem Blythe would never come back and that the Ingleside folk might as well give up hoping he would. Bruce went home and cried himself to sleep. This morning his mother saw him going out of the yard, with a very sorrowful and determined look, carrying his pet kitten. She didnā€™t think much more about 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 drowned Stripey.

ā€œā€˜Why did you do that?ā€™ Mrs. Meredith exclaimed.

ā€œā€˜To

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