They were all there around him--he could see them almost as
plainly as he saw Rilla--as plainly as he had once seen the Pied Piper
piping down the valley in a vanished twilight. And they said to him,
those gay little ghosts of other days, "We were the children of
yesterday, Walter--fight a good fight for the children of to-day and
to-morrow."
"Where are you, Walter," cried Rilla, laughing a little. "Come back--
come back."
Walter came back with a long breath. He stood up and looked about him at
the beautiful valley of moonlight, as if to impress on his mind and
heart every charm it possessed--the great dark plumes of the firs against
the silvery sky, the stately White Lady, the old magic of the dancing
brook, the faithful Tree Lovers, the beckoning, tricksy paths.
"I shall see it so in my dreams," he said, as he turned away.
They went back to Ingleside. Mr. and Mrs. Meredith were there, with
Gertrude Oliver, who had come from Lowbridge to say good-bye. Everybody
was quite cheerful and bright, but nobody said much about the war being
soon over, as they had said when Jem went away. They did not talk about
the war at all--and they thought of nothing else. At last they gathered
around the piano and sang the grand old hymn:
"Oh God, our help in ages past
Our hope for years to come.
Our shelter from the stormy blast
And our eternal home."
"We all come back to God in these days of soul-sifting," said Gertrude
to John Meredith.
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