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 and entreating you with waving paws to tickle his sleek stomach. When she saw that Miranda’s pale eyes bore unmistakable testimony to her having cried all night, Rilla asked her to come up to her room, knowing that Miranda had a tale of woe to tell, but she ordered Sir Wilfrid to remain below.

“Oh, can't he come, too?” said Miranda wistfully. “Poor Wilfy won't be any bother—and I wiped his paws so carefully before,I brought him in. He is always so lonesome in a strange place without me—and very soon he'll be—all—I’ll have left—to remind me—of Joe.”

Rilla yielded, and Sir Wilfrid, with his tail curled at a saucy angle over his brindled back, trotted triumphantly up the stairs before them.

“Oh, Rilla,” sobbed Miranda, when they had reached sanctuary. “I’m so unhappy. I can’t begin to tell you how unhappy I am. Truly, my heart is breaking.”

Rilla sat down on the lounge beside her. Sir Wilfrid squatted on his haunches before them, with his impertinent pink tongue stuck out, and listened.

“What is the trouble, Miranda?”

“Joe is coming home tonight on his last leave. I had a letter from him Saturday—he sends my letters in care of Bob Crawford, you know, because of father—and, oh, Rilla, he will only have four days—he has to go away Friday morning—and I may never see him again.”

“Does he still want you to marry him?” asked Rilla.

“Oh, yes. He implored me in his letter to run away and be married. But I cannot do that, Rilla, not even for Joe. My only comfort is that I will be able to