Rilla of Ingleside

he hammock under the big Scotch pine, Gertrude Oliver sat at its roots beside her, and Walter was stretched at full length on

people, especially lads in their teens, want to answer it. Her hair was ripely, ruddily brown and a little dent in her upper lip looked as if some good fairy had pressed it in with her finger at Rilla's christening. Rilla, whose best friends could not deny her share of vanity, thought her face would do very well, but worried over her figure, and wished her mother could be prevailed upon to let her wear longer dresses. She, who had been so plump and r

was not pretty but there was a certain charm of interest and mystery in her face, and Rilla found her fascinating. Even her occasional moods of gloom and cynicism had allurement for Rilla. These moods came only when Miss Oliver was tired. At all other times she was a stimulating companion, and the gay set at Ingleside never remembered that she was so much older than themselves. Walter and Rilla were her favourites and she was the confidante of the secret wishes and aspirations of both.

she would have liked her own son to be. Glossy black hair, brilliant dark grey eyes, faultless features. And a poet to his fingertips! That sonnet sequ

etested the name as being horribly old-fashioned and prim. Why couldn't they have called her by her first name, Bertha, which was beautiful and dignified, instead of that silly "Rilla"? She did not mind Walter's version, but nobody else was allowed to call her that, except Miss Oliver now and then. "Rilla-my-Rilla" in Walter's musical v

ldn't be happy if I had any secret from you, dearest-but I would never betray his. I tell him everything-I even show him my diary. And it hurts me dreadfully when he doesn't tell me things. He shows me all his poems, tho

al of trash," said Miss Oliver dryly. Then, repenting, a

oet, too-some day-and you will have mor

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. But sometimes," concl

, as Jem said, "plain dog"-very plain dog, uncharitable people added. Certainly, Monday's looks were not his strong point. Black spots were scattered at random over his yellow carcass, one of them, apparently, blotting out an eye. His ears were in tatters, for Monday was never successful in affairs of honour. But he possessed one talisman. He knew that not all dogs could be handsome or eloquent or victorious, but

n Rilla had no quarrel on h

ittle quiet silvery clouds hanging so peacefully over Rainbow Valley. "We've had

a gift of the gods-a sort of compensation for what is coming afterwards. I've seen that so often

hing that has happened in the Glen for a year was old Miss Mead fainting in

erness for some one. What a nice summer all you ga

this summer, though I'll just be on the fringe of things as usual, I suppo

Rilla. Don't wish your youth away. It goes too q

in another month, and then nobody can say I'm a child any longer. I heard someone say once that the years from fifte

what you're going to do-you a

lot of fun out of the

eflecting that Rilla's chin was really the last word in chins. "Well, what

willing to be a dunce if I can be a pretty, popular, delightful one. I can't be clever. I have no talent at all, and you can't imagine how comfortable it is. Nobody expects me to do anything so I'm never pestered to do it. And I can't be a house

o give up your studi

't look at me so sorrowfully and so disapprovingly, dearest. I can't be sober and serious-everything looks so rosy and rainbowy

r, half laughingly, half seriou