AT Christmas the college boys and girls came home and for a little while Ingleside was gay again. But all were not there—for the first time one was missing from the circle around the Christmas table. Jem, of the steady lips and fearless eyes, was far away, and Rilla felt that the sight of his vacant chair was more than she could endure. Susan had taken a stubborn freak and insisted on setting out Jem’s place for him as usual, with the twisted little napkin ring he had always had since a boy, and the odd, high Green Gables goblet which Aunt Marilla had once given him and from which he always insisted on drinking.
“That blessed boy shall have his place, Mrs. Dr. dear,” said Susan firmly, “and de not you feel over it, for you may be sure he is here in spirit and next Christmas he will be here in the body. Wait you till the 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 their determined merrymaking. Walter, too, was quiet and dull, all through the holidays. He showed Rilla a cruel, anonymous letter he had received at Redmond—a letter far more conspicuous for malice than for patriotic indignation.
“Nevertheless, all it says is true, Rilla.”
Rilla had caught it from him and thrown it into the fire.
