the lingering dream-notes died around the dim,
amethystine points. The gulf beyond was still silvery blue in the
afterlight. Oh, it was all glorious--the clear air with its salt tang,
the balsam of the firs, the laughter of her friends. Rilla loved
life--its bloom and brilliance; she loved the ripple of music, the hum
of merry conversation; she wanted to walk on forever over this road of
silver and shadow. It was her first party and she was going to have a
splendid time. There was nothing in the world to worry about--not even
freckles and over-long legs--nothing except one little haunting fear
that nobody would ask her to dance. It was beautiful and satisfying
just to be alive--to be fifteen--to be pretty. Rilla drew a long breath
of rapture--and caught it midway rather sharply. Jem was telling some
story to Faith--something that had happened in the Balkan War.

"The doctor lost both his legs--they were smashed to pulp--and he was
left on the field to die. And he crawled about from man to man, to all
the wounded men round him, as long as he could, and did everything
possible to relieve their sufferings--never thinking of himself--he was
tying a bit of bandage round another man's leg when he went under. They
found them there, the doctor's dead hands still held the bandage tight,
the bleeding was stopped and the other man's life was saved. Some hero,
wasn't he, Faith? I tell you when I read that--"

Jem and Faith moved on out of hearing. Gertrude Oliver suddenly
shivered. Rilla pressed her arm sympathetically.

"Wasn't it dreadful, Miss Oliver? I don't know why Jem tells such
gruesome things at a time like this when we're all out for fun."

"Do you think it dreadful, Rilla? I thought it wonderful--beautiful.
Such a story makes one ashamed of ever doubting human nature. That
man's action was godlike. And how humanity responds to the ideal of
self-sacrifice. As for my shiver, I don't know what caused it. The
evening is certainly warm enough. Perhaps someone is walking over the
dark, starshiny spot that is to be my grave. That is the explanation
the old superstition would give. Well, I won't think of that on this
lovely night. Do you know, Rilla, that when night-time comes I'm always
glad I live in the country. We know the real charm of night here as
town dwellers never do. Every night is beautiful in the country--even
the stormy ones. I love a wild night storm on this old gulf shore. As
for a night like this, it is almo