"Blue--blue--you'd have to say 'blue' a hundred times before
you could express how blue it is."
Susan wandered by, her head tied up with a shawl, her hands full of
garden implements. Doc, stealthy and wild-eyed, was shadowing her steps
among the spirea bushes.
"The sky may be blue," said Susan, "but that cat has been Hyde all day
so we will likely have rain tonight and by the same token I have
rheumatism in my shoulder."
"It may rain--but don't think rheumatism, Susan--think violets," said
Walter gaily--rather too gaily, Rilla thought.
Susan considered him unsympathetic.
"Indeed, Walter dear, I do not know what you mean by thinking violets,"
she responded stiffly, "and rheumatism is not a thing to be joked about,
as you may some day realize for yourself. I hope I am not of the kind
that is always complaining of their aches and pains, especially now when
the news is so terrible. Rheumatism is bad enough but I realize, and
none better, that it is not to be compared to being gassed by the Huns."
"Oh, my God, no!" exclaimed Walter passionately. He turned and went back
to the house.
Susan shook her head. She disapproved entirely of such ejaculations. "I
hope he will not let his mother hear him talking like that," she thought
as she stacked the hoes and rake away.
Rilla was standing among the budding daffodils with tear-filled eyes.
Her evening was spoiled; she detested Susan, who had somehow hurt
Walter; and Jem--had Jem been gassed? Had he died in torture?
"I can't endure this suspense any longer," said Rilla desperately.
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