“Knit if you can, Susan,” said Mrs. Blythe restlessly. “I would knit if I could—but I cannot—cannot.”
“If we could only get fuller information,” moaned Rilla. “There might be something to encourage us—if we knew all.”
“We know that the Germans are shelling Paris,” said Miss Oliver bitterly. “In that case they must have smashed through everywhere and be at the very gates. No, we have lost—let us face the fact as other peoples in the past have had to face it. Other nations, with right on their side have given their best and bravest—and gone down to defeat in spite of it. Ours is
‘but one more
To baffled millions who have gone before.’”
“I won't give up like that,” cried Rilla, her pale face suddenly flushing. “I won’t despair. We are not conquered—no, if Germany overruns all France we are not conquered. I am ashamed of myself for this hour of despair. You won’t see me slump again like that. I’m going to ring up town at once and ask for particulars.”
But town could not be got. The long-distance operator there was submerged by similar calls from every part of the distracted country. Rilla finally gave up and slipped away to Rainbow Valley. There she knelt down on the withered grey grasses in the little nook where she and Walter had had their last talk together, with her head bowed against the mossy trunk of a fallen tree. The sun had broken through the black clouds and drenched the valley with a pale golden
