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Updated: June 7, 2025
"Oh, if we could only have those dear, monotonous, pleasant days back again! I would never, never grumble about them again." Rilla's world had tumbled to pieces the very day after the party. As they lingered around the dinner table at Ingleside, talking of the war, the telephone had rung. It was a long-distance call from Charlottetown for Jem.
You see, it marches right alongside our two farms, between them and the Railway Company's strip along the waterside, and well, Rilla's freehold and Middlecoat's is freehold, and it's nature, I suppose, to be jealous of any third party interlopin'. But I don't want the land, and so I've told him; nor I won't bid against him and run up the price, though that's what they're aimin' at by an auction."
Oh, I just live in the hope that some day I shall be to Walter what Wordsworth's sister Dorothy was to him. Wordsworth never wrote anything 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 in Rilla's eye, she added hastily,
She stopped looking at Rilla's feet. "Rilla, darling, don't be so abrupt. I really want to help you, if I can 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 settled for the night, you know." "Oh, yes the baby you are bringing up by the book. It's perfectly sweet of you to do it when you hate children so.
"Yes?" said Irene in a cool, questioning tone, lifting her shallowly-set, insolent eyes to Rilla's crimson face for a moment and then dropping them again as if she could not tear them from their fascinated gaze at the shabby boot and the gallant shoe. Rilla gathered herself together. She would not lisp she would be calm and composed. "Mrs.
It was a somewhat elaborate affair, wherein Susan's taste had had more to say than Anne's, and Rilla's small soul gloried in its splendours of silk and lace and flowers. She was very conscious of her hat, and I am afraid she strutted up the manse hill. The strut, or the hat, or both, got on the nerves of Mary Vance, who was swinging on the lawn gate.
She had great, dreamy, hazel eyes, a milky skin dappled with little golden 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 dent in her upper lip looked as if some good fairy had pressed it in with her finger at Rilla's christening.
She had been acutely conscious of it from the moment he had sprung from Leo West's buggy. Now he came up to her smiling. "Doing the brave-smiling-sister-stunt, I see. What a crowd for the Glen to muster! Well, I'm off home in a few days myself." A queer little wind of desolation that even Jem's going had not caused blew over Rilla's spirit. "Why? You have another month of vacation."
He was so badly scared that he didn't even cry, but Rilla, when she found that he was safe and sound, burst into tears and sobbed wildly. "Nasty old twain," remarked Jims in disgust. "And nasty old God," he added, with a scowl at the heavens. A laugh broke into Rilla's sobbing, producing something very like what her father would have called hysterics.
"His regiment was on its way to the front but was held up in Kingsport for some reason, and Ken got leave of absence to come over to the 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.
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