his time? And I also see that Woodrow Wilson is going to write
another note. I wonder," concluded Susan, with the bitter irony she had
of late begun to use when referring to the poor President, "if that
man's schoolmaster is alive."

In January Jims was five months old and Rilla celebrated the
anniversary by shortening him.

"He weighs fourteen pounds," she announced jubilantly. "Just exactly
what he should weigh at five months, according to Morgan."

There was no longer any doubt in anybody's mind that Jims was getting
positively pretty. His little cheeks were round and firm and faintly
pink, his eyes were big and bright, his tiny paws had dimples at the
root of every finger. He had even begun to grow hair, much to Rilla's
unspoken relief. There was a pale golden fuzz all over his head that
was distinctly visible in some lights. He was a good infant, generally
sleeping and digesting as Morgan decreed. Occasionally he smiled but he
had never laughed, in spite of all efforts to make him. This worried
Rilla also, because Morgan said that babies usually laughed aloud from
the third to the fifth month. Jims was five months and had no notion of
laughing. Why hadn't he? Wasn't he normal?

One night Rilla came home late from a recruiting meeting at the Glen
where she had been giving patriotic recitations. Rilla had never been
willing to recite in public before. She was afraid of her tendency to
lisp, which had a habit of reviving if she were doing anything that
made her nervous. When she had first been asked to recite at the Upper
Glen meeting she had refused. Then she began to worry over her refusal.
Was it cowardly? What would Jem think if he knew? After two days of
worry Rilla phoned to the president of the Patriotic Society that she
would recite. She did, and lisped several times, and lay awake most of
the night in an agony of wounded vanity. Then two nights after she
recited again at Harbour Head. She had been at Lowbridge and
over-harbour since then and had become resigned to an occasional lisp.
Nobody except herself seemed to mind it. And she was so earnest and
appealing and shining-eyed! More than one recruit joined up because
Rilla's eyes seemed to look right at him when she passionately demanded
how could men die better than fighting for the ashes of their fathers
and the temples of their gods, or assured her audience with thrilling
intensity that one crowded hour of glorious life was worth an age
without a name.