emnation that any thought of Gavin always brought.

"She doesn't quite know. That's the trouble. He's not been eating and
he doesn't seem to want to go anywhere. I wonder what can be wrong
with the lad? Such a comfort as Gavin will be to the girls!"

Christina did not suggest an explanation. She had no self-conceit, and
could not imagine that Gavin was grieving over her to the extent of
loss of appetite. But she could not help wondering if she contributed
in any measure to his trouble. For now that the matter was drawn to
her attention she remembered that Gavin was not taking the part in the
life of the young people of the village which he had once taken. Since
the Red Cross Society had brought about a reunion of the divided forces
of Orchard Glen, social activities had become very popular, but Gavin
was not one of the reunited company. He did not come to the Temperance
meetings any more and had dropped Choir Practice. He had even left the
choir of his own church and he had deserted on the very day when he was
most needed, the day they unveiled the Honour Roll with the names of
the boys who had gone overseas. And in spite of all Tremendous K.'s
scolding and pleadings he would not return.

"Gavin Grant's queer," grumbled Jimmie. "We were depending on him to
give something the next night the boys have to give the programme, but
he won't even help with the singing."

"Did you ask him what was the matter?" asked Christina, interested.
"Auntie Elspie told Mother that he is acting as if he were sick."

"I think he's acting just plain mean," declared Jimmie, who had been
taking Sandy's place with Gavin lately and was disappointed in him.
"Maybe he's in love," he added with a grin and went off whistling.

But it was not that altogether that troubled Gavin, for there was
certainly something very badly wrong with the lad. It was love and war
combined that ailed him, and the war had become a burden too heavy for
his strong young shoulders.

For quiet, shy, gentle Gavin was burning to be up and away into the
struggle. His daily tasks of peace had become a galling joke scarcely
to be borne. And the more he yearned to be gone the more bitterly he
blamed himself for what he called his ingratitude and faithlessness.
He loved his three foster-mothers with all the power of his loyal young
heart. They had rescued him from a miserable starved childhood and had
lavished all the wealth of their loving hearts upon him.