`` He will go yet , '' she murmured miserably to herself one afternoon , as she sat alone in Rainbow Valley , reading a letter from him , `` he will go yet -- and if he does I just ca n't bear it . '' Walter wrote that some one had sent him an envelope containing a white feather . `` I deserved it , Rilla . I felt that I ought to put it on and wear it -- proclaiming myself to all Redmond the coward I know I am . The boys of my year are going -- going . Every day two or three of them join up . Some days I almost make up my mind to do it -- and then I see myself thrusting a bayonet through another man -- some woman 's husband or sweetheart or son -- perhaps the father of little children -- I see myself lying alone torn and mangled , burning with thirst on a cold , wet field , surrounded by dead and dying men -- and I know I never can . I ca n't face even the thought of it . How could I face the reality ? There are times when I wish I had never been born . Life has always seemed such a beautiful thing to me -- and now it is a hideous thing . Rilla-my-Rilla , if it were n't for your letters -- your dear , bright , merry , funny , comical , believing letters -- I think I 'd give up . And Una 's ! Una is really a little brick , is n't she ? There 's a wonderful fineness and firmness under all that shy , wistful girlishness of her . She has n't your knack of writing laugh-provoking epistles , but there 's something in her letters -- I do n't know what -- that makes me feel at least while I 'm reading them , that I could even go to the front . Not that she ever says a word about my going -- or hints that I ought to go -- she is n't that kind . It 's just the spirit of them -- the personality that is in them . Well , I ca n't go . You have a brother and Una has a friend who is a coward . ''
`` Oh , I wish XXXXX would n't write such things , '' sighed Rilla .
Redmond Rilla Rilla-my-Rilla Una Walter afternoon day days girlishness laugh-provoking