jumble of ordinary dreams—they are as clear cut and real as life.”
“What was your dream?”
“I was standing on the veranda steps, here at Ingleside, looking down over the fields of the Glen. All at once, far in the distance, I saw a long, silvery, glistening wave breaking over them. It came nearer and nearer—just a succession of little white waves like those that break on the sandshore sometimes. The Glen was being swallowed up. I thought, ‘Surely the waves will not come near Ingleside’—but they came nearer and nearer—so rapidly—before I could move or call they were breaking right at my feet—and everything was gone—there was nothing but a waste of stormy water where the Glen had been. I tried to draw back—and I saw that the edge of my dress was wet with blood—and I woke—shivering. I don’t like the dream. There was some sinister significance in it. That kind of vivid dream always ‘comes true’ with me.”
“I hope it doesn’t mean there’s a storm coming up from the east to ‘spoil the party,’ murmured Rilla anxiously.
“Incorrigible fifteen!” said Miss Oliver dryly. “No, Rilla-my-Rilla, I don’t think there is any dan- ger that it foretells, anything so awful as that.”
There had been an undercurrent of tension in the Ingleside existence for several days. Only Rilla, ab- sorbed in her own budding life, was unaware of it. Dr. Blythe had taken to looking grave and saying lit- tle over the daily paper. Jem and Walter were keenly interested in the news it brought. Jem sought Walter out in excitement that evening.
