hrouded her from head to
foot was cut on lines of economy, not of grace; yet, somehow, just then
Susan made an imposing figure. She was one of the women--courageous,
unquailing, patient, heroic--who had made victory possible. In her,
they all saluted the symbol for which their dearest had fought.
Something of this was in the doctor's mind as he watched her from the
door.

"Susan," he said, when she turned to come in, "from first to last of
this business you have been a brick!"

CHAPTER XXXI

MRS. MATILDA PITTMAN

Rilla and Jims were standing on the rear platform of their car when the
train stopped at the little Millward siding. The August evening was so
hot and close that the crowded cars were stifling. Nobody ever knew
just why trains stopped at Millward siding. Nobody was ever known to
get off there or get on. There was only one house nearer to it than
four miles, and it was surrounded by acres of blueberry barrens and
scrub spruce-trees.

Rilla was on her way into Charlottetown to spend the night with a
friend and the next day in Red Cross shopping; she had taken Jims with
her, partly because she did not want Susan or her mother to be bothered
with his care, partly because of a hungry desire in her heart to have
as much of him as she could before she might have to give him up
forever. James Anderson had written to her not long before this; he was
wounded and in the hospital; he would not be able to go back to the
front and as soon as he was able he would be coming home for Jims.

Rilla was heavy-hearted over this, and worried also. She loved Jims
dearly and would feel deeply giving him up in any case; but if Jim
Anderson were a different sort of a man, with a proper home for the
child, it would not be so bad. But to give Jims up to a roving,
shiftless, irresponsible father, however kind and good-hearted he might
be--and she knew Jim Anderson was kind and good-hearted enough--was a
bitter prospect to Rilla. It was not even likely Anderson would stay in
the Glen; he had no ties there now; he might even go back to England.
She might never see her dear, sunshiny, carefully brought-up little
Jims again. With such a father what might his fate be? Rilla meant to
beg Jim Anderson to leave him with her, but, from his letter, she had
not much hope that he would.

"If he would only stay in the Glen, where I could keep an eye on Jims
and have him often with me I wouldn't feel so worried over it," she
reflected. "Bu