Its classic calm and repose and the beauty of the
lines seem to belong to another planet, and to have as little to do with
the present world-welter as the evening star."
"The only thing that I find much comfort in reading nowadays is the
Bible," remarked Susan, whisking her biscuits into the oven. "There are
so many passages in it that seem to me exactly descriptive of the Huns.
Old Highland Sandy declares that there is no doubt that the Kaiser is
the Anti-Christ spoken of in Revelations, but I do not go as far as
that. It would, in my humble opinion, Mrs. Dr. dear, be too great an
honour for him."
Early one morning, several days later, Miranda Pryor slipped up to
Ingleside, ostensibly to get some Red Cross sewing, but in reality to
talk over with sympathetic Rilla troubles that were past bearing alone.
She brought her dog with her--an over-fed, bandy-legged little animal
very dear to her heart because Joe Milgrave had given it to her when it
was a puppy. Mr. Pryor regarded all dogs with disfavour; but in those
days he had looked kindly upon Joe as a suitor for Miranda's hand and so
he had allowed her to keep the puppy. Miranda was so grateful that she
endeavoured to please her father by naming her dog after his political
idol, the great Liberal chieftain, Sir Wilfrid Laurier--though his
title was soon abbreviated to Wilfy. Sir Wilfrid grew and flourished and
waxed fat; but Miranda spoiled him absurdly and nobody else liked him.
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