h of the
hills'--what a beautiful old Biblical phrase that is. Rilla! Look at
those old hills around us--the hills we looked up at as children,
wondering what lay for us in the great world beyond them. How calm and
strong they are--how patient and changeless--like the heart of a good
woman. Rilla-my-Rilla, do you know what you have been to me the past
year? I want to tell you before I go. I could not have lived through it
if it had not been for you, little loving, believing heart."

Rilla dared not try to speak. She slipped her hand into Walter's and
pressed it hard.

"And when I'm over there, Rilla, in that hell upon earth which men who
have forgotten God have made, it will be the thought of you that will
help me most. I know you'll be as plucky and patient as you have shown
yourself to be this past year--I'm not afraid for you. I know that no
matter what happens, you'll be Rilla-my-Rilla--no matter what happens."

Rilla repressed tear and sigh, but she could not repress a little
shiver, and Walter knew that he had said enough. After a moment of
silence, in which each made an unworded promise to each other, he said,
"Now we won't be sober any more. We'll look beyond the years--to the
time when the war will be over and Jem and Jerry and I will come
marching home and we'll all be happy again."

"We won't be--happy--in the same way," said Rilla.

"No, not in the same way. Nobody whom this war has touched will ever be
happy again in quite the same way. But it will be a better happiness, I
think, little sister--a happiness we've earned. We were very happy
before the war, weren't we? With a home like Ingleside, and a father
and mother like ours we couldn't help being happy. But that happiness
was a gift from life and love; it wasn't really ours--life could take
it back at any time. It can never take away the happiness we win for
ourselves in the way of duty. I've realised that since I went into
khaki. In spite of my occasional funks, when I fall to living over
things beforehand, I've been happy since that night in May. Rilla, be
awfully good to mother while I'm away. It must be a horrible thing to
be a mother in this war--the mothers and sisters and wives and
sweethearts have the hardest times. Rilla, you beautiful little thing,
are you anybody's sweetheart? If you are, tell me before I go."

"No," said Rilla. Then, impelled by a wish to be absolutely frank with
Walter in this talk that might be the last they would eve