looking, with her white lips and stricken eyes, as Rilla had never seen her mother look before,
“‘When our women fail in courage,
Shall our men be fearless still?’”
Yes, that was it. She must be brave—like mother—and Nan—and Faith—Faith, who had cried with flashing eyes, “Oh, if I were only a man, to go too!” Only, when her eyes ached and her throat burned like this she had to hide herself in Rainbow Valley for a little, just to think things out and remember that she wasn’t a child any longer—she was grown-up and women had to face things like this. But it was—nice—to get away alone now and then, where nobody could see her and where she needn’t feel that people thought her a little coward if some tears came in spite of her.
How sweet and woodsey the ferns smelled! How softly the great feathery boughs of the firs waved and murmured over her! How elfinly rang the bells on the “Tree Lovers”—just a tinkle now and then as the breeze swept by! How purple and elusive the haze where incense was being offered on many an altar of the hills!) How the maple leaves whitened in the wind until the grove seemed covered with pale silvery blossoms! Everything was just the same as she had seen it hundreds of times; and yet the whole face of the world seemed changed.
“How wicked I was to wish that something dramatic would happen!” she thought. “Oh, if we could only have those dear, monotonous, pleasant days back again! I would never, never grumble about them again.”
