Jem turned to the ‘phone again. “I must ring the manse. Jerry will want to go, too.”
At this Nan had cried out “Oh!” as if a knife had been thrust into her, and rushed from the room. Di followed her. Rilla turned to Walter for comfort but Walter was lost to her in some reverie she could not share.
“All right,” Jem was saying, as coolly as if he were arranging the details of a picnic. “I thought you would—yes, tonight—the seven o'clock—meet me at the station. So ‘long.”
“Mrs. Dr. dear,” said poor Susan, pushing away her pie. “I wish you would wake me up. Am I dreaming—or am I awake? Does that blessed boy realize what he is saying? Does he mean that he is going to enlist as a soldier? You do not mean to tell me that they want children like him! It is an outrage. Surely you and the doctor will not permit it.”
“We can’t stop him,” said Mrs. Blythe, chokingly. “Oh, Gilbert!”
Dr. Blythe came up behind his wife and took her hand gently, looking down into the sweet grey eyes which he had only once before seen filled with such imploring anguish as now. They both thought of that other time—the day years ago in the House of Dreams when little Joyce had died.
“Would you have him stay, Anne—when the others are going—when he thinks it his duty—would you have him so selfish and small-souled?”
“No—no! But—oh—our first born son—he’s only a lad—Gilbert—I'll try to be brave after awhile—just now I can’t. It’s all come so suddenly. Give me time.”
