"Do you think it right to meddle2 with the arrangements of the Almighty3?" she demanded indignantly of the doctor. The doctor, quite unmoved, responded that the law must be observed, and the Ingleside clocks were moved on accordingly. But the doctor had no power over Susan's little alarm.
"I bought that with my own money, Mrs. Dr. dear," she said firmly, "and it shall go on God's time and not Borden's time."
Susan got up and went to bed by "God's time," and regulated her own goings and comings by it. She served the meals, under protest, by Borden's time, and she had to go to church by it, which was the crowning injury. But she said her prayers by her own clock, and fed the hens by it; so that there was always a furtive4 triumph in her eye when she looked at the doctor. She had got the better of him by so much at least.
"Whiskers-on-the-moon is very much delighted with this daylight saving business," she told him one evening. "Of course he naturally would be, since I understand that the Germans invented it. I hear he came near losing his entire wheat-crop lately. Warren Mead's cows broke into the field one day last week—it was the very day the Germans captured the Chemang-de-dam, which may have been a coincidence or may not—and were making fine havoc5 of it when Mrs. Dick Clow happened to see them from her attic6 window. At first she had no intention of letting Mr. Pryor know. She told me she had just gloated over the sight of those cows pasturing on his wheat. She felt it served him exactly right. But presently she reflected that the wheat-crop was a matter of great importance and that 'save and serve' meant that those cows must be routed out as much as it meant anything. So she went down and phoned over to Whiskers about the matter. All the thanks she got was that he said something queer right out to her. She is not prepared to state that it was actually swearing for you cannot be sure just what you hear over the phone; but she has her own opinion, and so have I, but I will not express it for here comes Mr. Meredith, and Whiskers is one of his elders, so we must be discreet7."
"Are you looking for the new star?" asked Mr. Meredith, joining Miss Oliver and Rilla, who were standing8 among the blossoming potatoes gazing skyward.
"Yes—we have found it—see, it is just above the tip of the tallest old pine."
"It's wonderful to be looking at something that happened three thousand years ago, isn't it?" said Rilla. "That is when astronomers9 think the collision took place which produced this new star. It makes me feel horribly insignificant," she added under her breath.
"Even this event cannot dwarf10 into what may be the proper perspective in star systems the fact that the Germans are again only one leap from Paris," said Gertrude restlessly.
"I think I would like to have been an astronomer," said Mr. Meredith dreamily, gazing at the star.
"There must be a strange pleasure in it," agreed Miss Oliver, "an unearthly pleasure, in more senses than one. I would like to have a few astronomers for my friends."
"Fancy talking the gossip of the hosts of heaven," laughed Rilla.
"I wonder if astronomers feel a very deep interest in earthly affairs?" said the doctor. "Perhaps students of the canals of Mars would not be so keenly sensitive to the significance of a few yards of trenches11 lost or won on the western front."
"I have read somewhere," said Mr. Meredith, "that Ernest Renan wrote one of his books during the siege of Paris in 1870 and 'enjoyed the writing of it very much.' I suppose one would call him a philosopher."
"I have read also," said Miss Oliver, "that shortly before his death he said that his only regret in dying was that he must die before he had seen what that 'extremely interesting young man, the German Emperor,' would do in his life. If Ernest Renan 'walked' today and saw what that interesting young man had done to his beloved France, not to speak of the world, I wonder if his mental detachment would be as complete as it was in 1870."
"I wonder where Jem is tonight," thought Rilla, in a sudden bitter inrush of remembrance.
It was over a month since the news had come about Jem. Nothing had been discovered concerning him, in spite of all efforts. Two or three letters had come from him, written before the trench12 raid, and since then there had been only unbroken silence. Now the Germans were again at the Marne, pressing nearer and nearer Paris; now rumours13 were coming of another Austrian offensive against the Piave line. Rilla turned away from the new star, sick at heart. It was one of the moments when hope and courage failed her utterly—when it seemed impossible to go on even one more day. If only they knew what had happened to Jem—you can face anything you know. But a beleaguerment of fear and doubt and suspense14 is a hard thing for the morale15. Surely, if Jem were alive, some word would have come through. He must be dead. Only—they would never know—they could never be quite sure; and Dog Monday would wait for the train until he died of old age. Monday was only a poor, faithful, rheumatic little dog, who knew nothing more of his master's fate than they did.
Rilla had a "white night" and did not fall asleep until late. When she wakened Gertrude Oliver was sitting at her window leaning out to meet the silver mystery of the dawn. Her clever, striking profile, with the masses of black hair behind it, came out clearly against the pallid16 gold of the eastern sky. Rilla remembered Jem's admiration17 of the curve of Miss Oliver's brow and chin, and she shuddered18. Everything that reminded her of Jem was beginning to give intolerable pain. Walter's death had inflicted19 on her heart a terrible wound. But it had been a clean wound and had healed slowly, as such wounds do, though the scar must remain for ever. But the torture of Jem's disappearance20 was another thing: there was a poison in it that kept it from healing. The alternations of hope and despair, the endless watching each day for the letter that never came—that might never come—the newspaper tales of ill-usage of prisoners—the bitter wonder as to Jem's wound—all were increasingly hard to bear.
Gertrude Oliver turned her head. There was an odd brilliancy in her eyes.
"Rilla, I've had another dream."
"Rilla, it was a good dream. Listen—I dreamed just as I did four years ago, that I stood on the veranda22 steps and looked down the Glen. And it was still covered by waves that lapped about my feet. But as I looked the waves began to ebb—and they ebbed23 as swiftly as, four years ago, they rolled in—ebbed out and out, to the gulf24; and the Glen lay before me, beautiful and green, with a rainbow spanning Rainbow Valley—a rainbow of such splendid colour that it dazzled me—and I woke. Rilla—Rilla Blythe—the tide has turned."
"I wish I could believe it," sighed Rilla.
"Sooth was my prophecy of fear
Yet, in spite of the great Italian victory at the Piave that came a few days later, she had doubt many a time in the hard month that followed; and when in mid-July the Germans crossed the Marne again despair came sickeningly. It was idle, they all felt, to hope that the miracle of the Marne would be repeated. But it was: again, as in 1914, the tide turned at the Marne. The French and the American troops struck their sudden smashing blow on the exposed flank of the enemy and, with the almost inconceivable rapidity of a dream, the whole aspect of the war changed.
"The Allies have won two tremendous victories," said the doctor on 20th July.
"It is the beginning of the end—I feel it—I feel it," said Mrs. Blythe.
"Thank God," said Susan, folding her trembling old hands, Then she added, under her breath, "but it won't bring our boys back."
Nevertheless she went out and ran up the flag, for the first time since the fall of Jerusalem. As it caught the breeze and swelled27 gallantly28 out above her, Susan lifted her hand and saluted29 it, as she had seen Shirley do. "We've all given something to keep you flying," she said. "Four hundred thousand of our boys gone overseas—fifty thousand of them killed. But—you are worth it!" The wind whipped her grey hair about her face and the gingham apron30 that shrouded31 her from head to foot was cut on lines of economy, not of grace; yet, somehow, just then Susan made an imposing32 figure. She was one of the women—courageous, unquailing, patient, heroic—who had made victory possible. In her, they all saluted the symbol for which their dearest had fought. Something of this was in the doctor's mind as he watched her from the door.
"Susan," he said, when she turned to come in, "from first to last of this business you have been a brick!"
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1
balked
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| v.畏缩不前，犹豫( balk的过去式和过去分词 )；（指马）不肯跑 | |
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meddle
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| v.干预，干涉，插手 | |
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almighty
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| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
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furtive
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| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
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havoc
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| n.大破坏，浩劫，大混乱，大杂乱 | |
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attic
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| n.顶楼，屋顶室 | |
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discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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astronomers
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| n.天文学者，天文学家( astronomer的名词复数 ) | |
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dwarf
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| n.矮子，侏儒，矮小的动植物；vt.使…矮小 | |
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11
trenches
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| 深沟，地沟( trench的名词复数 )； 战壕 | |
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trench
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| n./v.(挖)沟，(挖)战壕 | |
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rumours
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| n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 )；风闻；谣言；谣传 | |
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14
suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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morale
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| n.道德准则，士气，斗志 | |
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pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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inflicted
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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foretold
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| v.预言，预示( foretell的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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ebbed
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| （指潮水）退( ebb的过去式和过去分词 )； 落； 减少； 衰落 | |
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gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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augurs
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| n.（古罗马的）占兆官( augur的名词复数 )；占卜师，预言者v.预示，预兆，预言( augur的第三人称单数 )；成为预兆；占卜 | |
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gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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gallantly
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| adv. 漂亮地，勇敢地，献殷勤地 | |
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29
saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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shrouded
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| v.隐瞒( shroud的过去式和过去分词 )；保密 | |
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imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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