Rilla of Ingleside - Lucy Maud Montgomery (the gingerbread man read aloud .TXT) š
- Author: Lucy Maud Montgomery
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āMrs. Meredith didnāt know what to say to the poor child. She just could not tell him that perhaps his sacrifice wouldnāt bring Jem backāthat God didnāt work that way. She told him that he mustnāt expect it right awayāthat perhaps it would be quite a long time yet before Jem came back.
āBut Bruce said, āIt oughtnāt to take longerān a week, mother. Oh, mother, Stripey was such a nice little cat. He purred so pretty. Donāt you think God ought to like him enough to let us have Jem?ā
āMr. Meredith is worried about the effect on Bruceās faith in God, and Mrs. Meredith is worried about the effect on Bruce himself if his hope isnāt fulfilled. And I feel as if I must cry every time I think of it. It was so splendidāand sadāand beautiful. The dear devoted little fellow! He worshipped that kitten. And if it all goes for nothingāas so many sacrifices seem to go for nothingāhe will be brokenhearted, for he isnāt old enough to understand that God doesnāt answer our prayers just as we hopeāand doesnāt make bargains with us when we yield something we love up to Him.ā
24th September 1918 āI have been kneeling at my window in the moonshine for a long time, just thanking God over and over again. The joy of last night and today has been so great that it seemed half paināas if our hearts werenāt big enough to hold it.
āLast night I was sitting here in my room at eleven oāclock writing a letter to Shirley. Every one else was in bed, except father, who was out. I heard the telephone ring and I ran out to the hall to answer it, before it should waken mother. It was long-distance calling, and when I answered it said āThis is the telegraph Companyās office in Charlottetown. There is an overseas cable for Dr. Blythe.ā
āI thought of Shirleyāmy heart stood stillāand then I heard him saying, āItās from Holland.ā
āThe message was,
āJust arrived. Escaped from Germany. Quite well. Writing. James Blythe.ā
āI didnāt faint or fall or scream. I didnāt feel glad or surprised. I didnāt feel anything. I felt numb, just as I did when I heard Walter had enlisted. I hung up the receiver and turned round. Mother was standing in her doorway. She wore her old rose kimono, and her hair was hanging down her back in a long thick braid, and her eyes were shining. She looked just like a young girl.
āāThere is word from Jem?ā she said.
āHow did she know? I hadnāt said a word at the phone except āYesāyesā yes.ā She says she doesnāt know how she knew, but she did know. She was awake and she heard the ring and she knew that there was word from Jem.
āāHeās aliveāheās wellāheās in Holland,ā I said.
āMother came out into the hall and said, āI must get your father on the āphone and tell him. He is in the Upper Glen.ā
āShe was very calm and quietānot a bit like I would have expected her to be. But then I wasnāt either. I went and woke up Gertrude and Susan and told them. Susan said āThank God,ā firstly, and secondly she said āDid I not tell you Dog Monday knew?ā and thirdly, āIāll go down and make a cup of teaāāand she stalked down in her nightdress to make it. She did make itāand made mother and Gertrude drink itābut I went back to my room and shut my door and locked it, and I knelt by my window and criedājust as Gertrude did when her great news came.
āI think I know at last exactly what I shall feel like on the resurrection morning.ā
4th October 1918 āToday Jemās letter came. It has been in the house only six hours and it is almost read to pieces. The post-mistress told everybody in the Glen it had come, and everybody came up to hear the news.
āJem was badly wounded in the thighāand he was picked up and taken to prison, so delirious with fever that he didnāt know what was happening to him or where he was. It was weeks before he came to his senses and was able to write. Then he did writeābut it never came. He wasnāt treated at all badly at his campāonly the food was poor. He had nothing to eat but a little black bread and boiled turnips and now and then a little soup with black peas in it. And we sat down every one of those days to three good square luxurious meals! He wrote us as often as he could but he was afraid we were not getting his letters because no reply came. As soon as he was strong enough he tried to escape, but was caught and brought back; a month later he and a comrade made another attempt and succeeded in reaching Holland.
āJem canāt come home right away. He isnāt quite so well as his cable said, for his wound has not healed properly and he has to go into a hospital in England for further treatment. But he says he will be all right eventually, and we know he is safe and will be back home sometime, and oh, the difference it makes in everything!
āI had a letter from Jim Anderson today, too. He has married an English girl, got his discharge, and is coming right home to Canada with his bride. I donāt know whether to be glad or sorry. It will depend on what kind of a woman she is. I had a second letter also of a somewhat mysterious tenor. It is from a Charlottetown lawyer, asking me to go in to see him at my earliest convenience in regard to a certain matter connected with the estate of the ālate Mrs. Matilda Pitman.ā
āI read a notice of Mrs. Pitmanās deathāfrom heart failureāin the Enterprise a few weeks ago. I wonder if this summons has anything to do with Jims.ā
5th October 1918 āI went into town this morning and had an interview with Mrs. Pitmanās lawyerāa little thin, wispy man, who spoke of his late client with such a profound respect that it is evident that he as was much under her thumb as Robert and Amelia were. He drew up a new will for her a short time before her death. She was worth thirty thousand dollars, the bulk of which was left to Amelia Chapley. But she left five thousand to me in trust for Jims. The interest is to be used as I see fit for his education, and the principal is to be paid over to him on his twentieth birthday. Certainly Jims was born lucky. I saved him from slow extinction at the hands of Mrs. ConoverāMary Vance saved him from death by diptheritic croupāhis star saved him when he fell off the train. And he tumbled not only into a clump of bracken, but right into this nice little legacy.
āEvidently, as Mrs. Matilda Pitman said, and as I have always believed, he is no common child and he has no common destiny in store for him.
āAt all events he is provided for, and in such a fashion that Jim Anderson canāt squander his inheritance if he wanted to. Now, if the new English stepmother is only a good sort I shall feel quite easy about the future of my war-baby.
āI wonder what Robert and Amelia think of it. I fancy they will nail down their windows when they leave home after this!ā
āA day āof chilling winds and gloomy skies,āā Rilla quoted one Sunday afternoonāthe sixth of October to be exact. It was so cold that they had lighted a fire in the living-room and the merry little flames were doing their best to counteract the outside dourness. āItās more like November than OctoberāNovember is such an ugly month.ā
Cousin Sophia was there, having again forgiven Susan, and Mrs. Martin Clow, who was not visiting on Sunday but had dropped in to borrow Susanās cure for rheumatismāthat being cheaper than getting one from the doctor. āIām afeared weāre going to have an airly winter,ā foreboded Cousin Sophia. āThe muskrats are building awful big houses round the pond, and thatās a sign that never fails. Dear me, how that child has grown!ā Cousin Sophia sighed again, as if it were an unhappy circumstance that a child should grow. āWhen do you expect his father?ā
āNext week,ā said Rilla.
āWell, I hope the stepmother wonāt abuse the pore child,ā sighed Cousin Sophia, ābut I have my doubtsāI have my doubts. Anyhow, heāll be sure to feel the difference between his usage here and what heāll get anywhere else. Youāve spoiled him so, Rilla, waiting on him hand and foot the way youāve always done.ā
Rilla smiled and pressed her cheek to Jimsā curls. She knew sweet-tempered, sunny, little Jims was not spoiled. Nevertheless her heart was anxious behind her smile. She, too, thought much about the new Mrs. Anderson and wondered uneasily what she would be like.
āI canāt give Jims up to a woman who wonāt love him,ā she thought rebelliously.
āI bālieve itās going to rain,ā said Cousin Sophia. āWe have had an awful lot of rain this fall already. Itās going to make it awful hard for people to get their roots in. It wasnāt so in my young days. We ginārally had beautiful Octobers then. But the seasons is altogether different now from what they used to be.ā Clear across Cousin Sophiaās doleful voice cut the telephone bell. Gertrude Oliver answered it. āYes āwhat? What? Is it trueāis it official? Thank youāthank you.ā
Gertrude turned and faced the room dramatically, her dark eyes flashing, her dark face flushed with feeling. All at once the sun broke through the thick clouds and poured through the big crimson maple outside the window. Its reflected glow enveloped her in a weird immaterial flame. She looked like a priestess performing some mystic, splendid rite.
āGermany and Austria are suing for peace,ā she said.
Rilla went crazy for a few minutes. She sprang up and danced around the room, clapping her hands, laughing, crying.
āSit down, child,ā said Mrs. Clow, who never got excited over anything, and so had missed a tremendous amount of trouble and delight in her journey through life.
āOh,ā cried Rilla, āI have walked the floor for hours in despair and anxiety in these past four years. Now let me walk in joy. It was worth living long dreary years for this minute, and it would be worth living them again just to look back to it. Susan, letās run up the flagāand we must phone the news to every one in the Glen.ā
āCan we have as much sugar as we want to now?ā asked Jims eagerly.
It was a never-to-be-forgotten afternoon. As the news spread excited people ran about the village and dashed up to Ingleside. The Merediths came over and stayed to supper and everybody talked and nobody listened. Cousin Sophia tried to protest that Germany and Austria were not to be trusted and it was all part of a plot, but nobody paid the least attention to her.
āThis Sunday makes up for that one in March,ā said Susan.
āI wonder,ā said Gertrude dreamily, apart to Rilla, āif things wonāt seem rather flat and insipid when peace really comes. After being fed for four years on horrors and fears, terrible reverses, amazing
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