Kenneth was off already--he was talking to Ethel Reese, who was dressed, at seven in the morning, in the gown she had worn to the dance, and was crying.
What on earth had Ethel to cry about?
None of the Reeses were in khaki.
Rilla wanted to cry, too--but she would not.

What was that horrid old Mrs.Drew saying to mother, in that melancholy whine of hers?
"I don't know how you can stand this, Mrs.Blythe.I couldn't if it was my pore boy." And mother--oh, mother could always be depended on! How her grey eyes flashed in her pale face.

"It might have been worse, Mrs.Drew.

I might have had to urge him to go." Mrs.Drew did not understand but Rilla did.

She flung up her head.