Kenneth was not the son
of a famous novelist for nothing. He "had a way" of expressing things in
a few poignant, significant words that seemed to suggest far more than
they uttered, and never grew stale or flat or foolish with ever so many
scores of readings. Rilla went home from Rainbow Valley as if she flew
rather than walked.
But such moments of uplift were rare that autumn. To be sure, there was
one day in September when great news came of a big Allied victory in the
west and Susan ran out to hoist the flag--the first time she had
hoisted it since the Russian line broke and the last time she was to
hoist it for many dismal moons.
"Likely the Big Push has begun at last, Mrs. Dr. dear," she exclaimed,
"and we will soon see the finish of the Huns. Our boys will be home by
Christmas now. Hurrah!"
Susan was ashamed of herself for hurrahing the minute she had done it,
and apologized meekly for such an outburst of juvenility. "But indeed,
Mrs. Dr. dear, this good news has gone to my head after this awful
summer of Russian slumps and Gallipoli setbacks."
"Good news!" said Miss Oliver bitterly. "I wonder if the women whose men
have been killed for it will call it good news. Just because our own men
are not on that part of the front we are rejoicing as if the victory had
cost no lives."
"Now, Miss Oliver dear, do not take that view of it," deprecated Susan.
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