Both of them wrote a great deal of trash," said Miss Oliver dryly.

Then, repenting, as she saw a hurt look in Rilla's eye, she added hastily, "But I believe Walter will be a great poet, too--some day--and you will have more of his confidence as you grow older." "When Walter was in the hospital with typhoid last year I was almost crazy," sighed Rilla, a little importantly.

"They never told me how ill he really was until it was all over--father wouldn't let them.

I'm glad I didn't know--I couldn't have borne it.

I cried myself to sleep every night as it was.