Rilla ran to his
comforting, while Susan bounded up from the chair upon which she had
dropped.
"No," she said briskly, with a sudden return of her real self. "No, God
isn't dead--nor Lloyd George either. We were forgetting that, Mrs. Dr.
dear. Don't cry, little Kitchener. Bad as things are, they might be
worse. The British line may be broken but the British navy is not. Let
us tie to that. I will take a brace and get up a bite to eat, for
strength we must have."
They made a pretence of eating Susan's "bite," but it was only a
pretence. Nobody at Ingleside ever forgot that black afternoon. Gertrude
Oliver walked the floor--they all walked the floor; except Susan, who
got out her grey war sock.
"Mrs. Dr. dear, I must knit on Sunday at last. I have never dreamed of
doing it before for, say what might be said, I have considered it was a
violation of the third commandment. But whether it is or whether it is
not I must knit today or I shall go mad."
"Knit if you can, Susan," said Mrs. Blythe restlessly. "I would knit if
I could--but I cannot--I cannot."
"If we could only get fuller information," moaned Rilla. "There might be
something to encourage us--if we knew all."
"We know that the Germans are shelling Paris," said Miss Oliver
bitterly. "In that case they must have smashed through everywhere and be
at the very gates. No, we have lost--let us face the fact as other
peoples in the past have had to face it.
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