eerful. We were all just quiet
and friendly, and that helped. Then, too, I was so thankful that Jims
had got better--so thankful that I almost felt glad--almost but not
quite. I wonder if I shall ever feel really glad over anything again.
It seems as if gladness were killed in me--shot down by the same bullet
that pierced Walter's heart. Perhaps some day a new kind of gladness
will be born in my soul--but the old kind will never live again.

"Winter set in awfully early this year. Ten days before Christmas we
had a big snowstorm--at least we thought it big at the time. As it
happened, it was only a prelude to the real performance. It was fine
the next day, and Ingleside and Rainbow Valley were wonderful, with the
trees all covered with snow, and big drifts everywhere, carved into the
most fantastic shapes by the chisel of the northeast wind. Father and
mother went up to Avonlea. Father thought the change would do mother
good, and they wanted to see poor Aunt Diana, whose son Jock had been
seriously wounded a short time before. They left Susan and me to keep
house, and father expected to be back the next day. But he never got
back for a week. That night it began to storm again, and it stormed
unbrokenly for four days. It was the worst and longest storm that
Prince Edward Island has known for years. Everything was
disorganized--the roads were completely choked up, the trains
blockaded, and the telephone wires put entirely out of commission.

"And then Jims took ill.

"He had a little cold when father and mother went away, and he kept
getting worse for a couple of days, but it didn't occur to me that
there was danger of anything serious. I never even took his
temperature, and I can't forgive myself, because it was sheer
carelessness. The truth is I had slumped just then. Mother was away, so
I let myself go. All at once I was tired of keeping up and pretending
to be brave and cheerful, and I just gave up for a few days and spent
most of the time lying on my face on my bed, crying. I neglected
Jims--that is the hateful truth--I was cowardly and false to what I
promised Walter--and if Jims had died I could never have forgiven
myself.

"Then, the third night after father and mother went away, Jims suddenly
got worse--oh, so much worse--all at once. Susan and I were all alone.
Gertrude had been at Lowbridge when the storm began and had never got
back. At first we were not much alarmed. Jims has had several bouts of
croup a