cannot have a toothache in Russia or China but it
worries me. It may be broadening to the mind, as the doctor said, but
it is very painful to the feelings."

When Christmas came again Susan did not set any vacant places at the
festive board. Two empty chairs were too much even for Susan who had
thought in September that there would not be one.

"This is the first Christmas that Walter was not home," Rilla wrote in
her diary that night. "Jem used to be away for Christmases up in
Avonlea, but Walter never was. I had letters from Ken and him today.
They are still in England but expect to be in the trenches very soon.
And then--but I suppose we'll be able to endure it somehow. To me, the
strangest of all the strange things since 1914 is how we have all
learned to accept things we never thought we could--to go on with life
as a matter of course. I know that Jem and Jerry are in the
trenches--that Ken and Walter will be soon--that if one of them does
not come back my heart will break--yet I go on and work and plan--yes,
and even enjoy life by times. There are moments when we have real fun
because, just for the moment, we don't think about things and then--we
remember--and the remembering is worse than thinking of it all the time
would have been.

"Today was dark and cloudy and tonight is wild enough, as Gertrude
says, to please any novelist in search of suitable matter for a murder
or elopement. The raindrops streaming over the panes look like tears
running down a face, and the wind is shrieking through the maple grove.

"This hasn't been a nice Christmas Day in any way. Nan had toothache
and Susan had red eyes, and assumed a weird and gruesome flippancy of
manner to deceive us into thinking she hadn't; and Jims had a bad cold
all day and I'm afraid of croup. He has had croup twice since October.
The first time I was nearly frightened to death, for father and mother
were both away--father always is away, it seems to me, when any of this
household gets sick. But Susan was cool as a fish and knew just what to
do, and by morning Jims was all right. That child is a cross between a
duck and an imp. He's a year and four months old, trots about
everywhere, and says quite a few words. He has the cutest little way of
calling me "Willa-will." It always brings back that dreadful,
ridiculous, delightful night when Ken came to say good-bye, and I was
so furious and happy. Jims is pink and white and big-eyed and
curly-haired and every