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 dinner was on the table, which was not even set. Where was Susan?

“Can she have been taken ill?” exclaimed Mrs. Blythe anxiously. “I thought it strange that she did not want to go to church this morning.

The kitchen door opened and Susan appeared on the threshold with such a ghastly face that Mrs. Blythe cried out in sudden panic,

“Susan, what is it?”

“The British line is broken and the German shells are falling on Paris,” said Susan dully.

The three women stared at each other, stricken.

“It’s not true—it’s not,” gasped Rilla.

“The thing would be—ridiculous,” said Gertrude Oliver—and then she laughed horribly.

“Susan, who told you this— when did the news come?” asked Mrs. Blythe.

“I got it over the long-distance ‘phone from Charlottetown half an hour ago,” said Susan. “The news came to town late last night. It was Dr. Holland ’phoned it out and he said it was only too true. Since then I have done nothing, Mrs. Dr. dear. I am very sorry dinner is not ready. It is the first time I have been so remiss. If you will be patient I will soon have something for you to eat. But I am afraid I let the potatoes burn.”

“Dinner! Nobody wants any dinner, Susan,” said Mrs. Blythe wildly. “Oh, this thing is unbelievable—it must be a nightmare.”

“Paris is lost—France is lost—the war is lost,” gasped Rilla, amid the utter ruins of hope and confidence and belief.

“Oh God—oh God,’ moaned Gertrude Oliver,