hrough her white lips, that night.

"No--no--'missing' leaves a little hope, Rilla," urged Gertrude Oliver.

"Yes--torturing, agonized hope that keeps you from ever becoming quite
resigned to the worst," said Rilla. "Oh, Miss Oliver--must we go for
weeks and months--not knowing whether Jem is alive or dead? Perhaps we
will never know. I--I cannot bear it--I cannot. Walter--and now Jem.
This will kill mother--look at her face, Miss Oliver, and you will see
that. And Faith--poor Faith--how can she bear it?"

Gertrude shivered with pain. She looked up at the pictures hanging over
Rilla's desk and felt a sudden hatred of Mona Lisa's endless smile.

"Will not even this blot it off your face?" she thought savagely.

But she said gently, "No, it won't kill your mother. She's made of
finer mettle than that. Besides, she refuses to believe Jem is dead;
she will cling to hope and we must all do that. Faith, you may be sure,
will do it."

"I cannot," moaned Rilla, "Jem was wounded--what chance would he have?
Even if the Germans found him--we know how they have treated wounded
prisoners. I wish I could hope, Miss Oliver--it would help, I suppose.
But hope seems dead in me. I can't hope without some reason for it--and
there is no reason."

When Miss Oliver had gone to her own room and Rilla was lying on her
bed in the moonlight, praying desperately for a little strength, Susan
stepped in like a gaunt shadow and sat down beside her.

"Rilla, dear, do not you worry. Little Jem is not dead."

"Oh, how can you believe that, Susan?"

"Because I know. Listen you to me. When that word came this morning the
first thing I thought of was Dog Monday. And tonight, as soon as I got
the supper dishes washed and the bread set, I went down to the station.
There was Dog Monday, waiting for the train, just as patient as usual.
Now, Rilla, dear, that trench raid was four days ago--last Monday--and
I said to the station-agent, 'Can you tell me if that dog howled or
made any kind of a fuss last Monday night?' He thought it over a bit,
and then he said, 'No, he did not.' 'Are you sure?' I said. 'There's
more depends on it than you think!' 'Dead sure,' he said. 'I was up all
night last Monday night because my mare was sick, and there was never a
sound out of him. I would have heard if there had been, for the stable
door was open all the time and his kennel is right across from it!' Now
Rilla dear, those were the man's very words. And you know ho