hours in despair and anxiety in these past four years. Now let me walk it in joy. It was worth living long dreary years for this minute, and it would be worth living them again just to look back to it. Susan, let’s run up the flag—and we 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 excited people ran about the village and dashed up to Ingleside. The Merediths came over and stayed to supper and everybody talked and nobody listened. Cousin Sophia tried to protest that Germany and Austria were not to be trusted and it was all part of a plot, but nobody paid the least 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’t seem rather flat and insipid when peace really comes. After being fed for four years on horrors and fears, terrible reverses, amazing victories, won't anything less be tame and uninteresting? How strange—and blessed—and dull it will be not to dread the coming of the 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 weeks dreadful things may happen. My excitement is over. We have won the victory—but oh, what a price we have paid!”
“Not too high a price for freedom,” said Gertrude softly. “Do you think it was, Rilla?”
“No,” said Rilla, under her breath. She was seeing a little white cross on a battlefield of France. “No—
