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 member of the church, and Jem wasn’t. I’ve told Mr. Meredith many a time that he should have spoken seriously to Jem about it before he went away.”

“Pore, pore, Walter,” sighed Mrs. Reese.

“Do not you come here calling him poor Walter,” said Susan indignantly, appearing in the kitchen door, much to the relief of Rilla, who felt that she could endure no more just then. “He was not poor. He was richer than any of you. It is you who stay at home and will not let your sons go who are poor—poor and naked and mean and small—pisen poor, and so are your sons, with all their prosperous farms and fat cattle and their souls no bigger than a flea’s—if as big.”

“I came here to comfort the afflicted and not to be insulted,’ said Mrs. Reese, taking her departure, unregretted by anyone. Then the fire went out of Susan and she retreated to her kitchen, laid her faithful old head on the table and wept bitterly for a time. Then she went to work and ironed Jims’ little rompers. Rilla scolded her gently for it when she herself came in to do it.

“I am not going to have you kill yourself working for any war baby,” Susan said obstinately.

“Oh, I wish I could just keep on working all the time, Susan,” cried poor Rilla. “And I wish I didn't have to go to sleep. It is hideous to go to sleep and forget it for a little while, and wake up and have it all rush over me anew the next morning. Do people ever get used to things like this, Susan? And oh, Susan, I can’t get away from what Mrs. Reese said. Did Walter suffer much—he was always so sensitive to pain. Oh, Susan, if I knew that he didn’t, I think I could gather up a little courage and strength.”