But he would not touch the food she brought for him.
"I'm afraid he's sick," she said anxiously. She hated to go away and
leave him. But no bad news came that day--nor the next--nor the next.
Rilla's fear lifted. Dog Monday howled no more and resumed his routine
of train meeting and watching. When five days had passed the Ingleside
people began to feel that they might be cheerful again. Rilla dashed
about the kitchen helping Susan with the breakfast and singing so
sweetly and clearly that Cousin Sophia across the road heard her and
croaked out to Mrs. Albert,
"'Sing before eating, cry before sleeping,' I've always heard."
But Rilla Blythe shed no tears before the nightfall. When her father,
his face grey and drawn and old, came to her that afternoon and told her
that Walter had been killed in action at Courcelette she crumpled up in
a pitiful little heap of merciful unconsciousness in his arms. Nor did
she waken to her pain for many hours.
CHAPTER XXIII
"AND SO, GOODNIGHT"
The fierce flame of agony had burned itself out and the grey dust of its
ashes was over all the world. Rilla's younger life recovered physically
sooner than her mother. For weeks Mrs. Blythe lay ill from grief and
shock. Rilla found it was possible to go on with existence, since
existence had still to be reckoned with. There was work to be done, for
Susan could not do all.
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