"Anyhow, no one will expect me to go," he thought.
"As Jem says, typhoid has seen to that." Rilla was leaning out of her room window, dressed for the dance.

A yellow pansy slipped from her hair and fell out over the sill like a falling star of gold.

She caught at it vainly--but there were enough left.

Miss Oliver had woven a little wreath of them for her pet's hair.
"It's so beautifully calm--isn't that splendid?
We'll have a perfect night.

Listen, Miss Oliver--I can hear those old bells in Rainbow Valley quite clearly.