I know that no
matter what happens, you'll be Rilla-my-Rilla--no matter what happens."
Rilla repressed tear and sigh, but she could not repress a little
shiver, and Walter knew that he had said enough. After a moment of
silence, in which each made an unworded promise to each other, he said,
"Now we won't be sober any more. We'll look beyond the years--to the
time when the war will be over and Jem and Jerry and I will come
marching home and we'll all be happy again."
"We won't be--happy--in the same way," said Rilla.
"No, not in the same way. Nobody whom this war has touched will ever be
happy again in quite the same way. But it will be a better happiness, I
think, little sister--a happiness we've earned. We were very happy
before the war, weren't we? With a home like Ingleside, and a father and
mother like ours we couldn't help being happy. But that happiness was a
gift from life and love; it wasn't really ours--life could take it back
at any time. It can never take away the happiness we win for ourselves
in the way of duty. I've realised that since I went into khaki. In spite
of my occasional funks, when I fall to living over things beforehand,
I've been happy since that night in May. Rilla, be awfully good to
mother while I'm away. It must be a horrible thing to be a mother in
this war--the mothers and sisters and wives and sweethearts have the
hardest times.
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