Walter wistfully. Somehow, it hurt him to think Rilla might despise him—hurt him as much as if it had been Di. He realized suddenly how very fond he was of this adoring kid sister with her appealing eyes and troubled, girlish face.
“No, I don’t. Why, Walter, hundreds of people feel just as you do. You know what that verse of Shakespeare in the old Fifth Reader says—‘the brave tnan is not he who feels no fear.’”
“No—but it is ‘he whose noble soul its fear subdues.’ I don’t do that. We can’t gloss it over, Rilla. I’m a coward.”
“You're not. Think of how you fought Dan Reese long ago.”
“One spurt of courage isn’t enough for a lifetime.”
“Walter, one time I heard father say that the trouble with you was a sensitive nature and a vivid imagination. I think I know now what he meant. You feel things before they really come—feel them all alone when there isn’t anything to help you bear them—to take away from them. I don’t express that very well—but I know that’s the trouble. It isn’t anything to be ashamed of. When you and Jem got your hands burned when the grass was fired on the sand hills two years ago Jem made twice the fuss over the pain that you did. As for this horrid old war, there'll be plenty to go without you. It won’t last long.”
“I wish I could believe it. Well, it’s supper time, Rilla. You'd better run. I don’t want anything.”
“Neither do I. I couldn’t eat a mouthful. Let me stay here with you, Walter. It’s such a comfort to talk things over with some one. The rest all
