station with a brass band borrowed from
Lowbridge and speeches of home manufacture. Miller was brisk and
beaming in spite of his wooden leg; he had developed into a
broad-shouldered, imposing looking fellow and the D. C. Medal he wore
reconciled Miss Cornelia to the shortcomings of his pedigree to such a
degree that she tacitly recognized his engagement to Mary.

The latter put on a few airs--especially when Carter Flagg took Miller
into his store as head clerk--but nobody grudged them to her.

"Of course farming's out of the question for us now," she told Rilla,
"but Miller thinks he'll like storekeeping fine once he gets used to a
quiet life again, and Carter Flagg will be a more agreeable boss than
old Kitty. We're going to be married in the fall and live in the old
Mead house with the bay windows and the mansard roof. I've always
thought that the handsomest house in the Glen, but never did I dream
I'd ever live there. We're only renting it, of course, but if things go
as we expect and Carter Flagg takes Miller into partnership we'll own
it some day. Say, I've got on some in society, haven't I, considering
what I come from? I never aspired to being a storekeeper's wife. But
Miller's real ambitious and he'll have a wife that'll back him up. He
says he never saw a French girl worth looking at twice and that his
heart beat true to me every moment he was away."

Jerry Meredith and Joe Milgrave came back in January, and all winter
the boys from the Glen and its environs came home by twos and threes.
None of them came back just as they went away, not even those who had
been so fortunate as to escape injury.

One spring day, when the daffodils were blowing on the Ingleside lawn,
and the banks of the brook in Rainbow Valley were sweet with white and
purple violets, the little, lazy afternoon accommodation train pulled
into the Glen station. It was very seldom that passengers for the Glen
came by that train, so nobody was there to meet it except the new
station agent and a small black-and-yellow dog, who for four and a half
years had met every train that had steamed into Glen St. Mary.
Thousands of trains had Dog Monday met and never had the boy he waited
and watched for returned. Yet still Dog Monday watched on with eyes
that never quite lost hope. Perhaps his dog-heart failed him at times;
he was growing old and rheumatic; when he walked back to his kennel
after each train had gone his gait was very sober now--he never t