"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!"