He could cry until he got good and tired and ready to go to sleep again . Then Rilla 's imagination began to torment her . Suppose , she thought , I was a tiny , helpless creature only five months old , with my father somewhere in France and my poor little mother , who had been so worried about me , in the graveyard . Suppose I was lying in a basket in a big , black room , without one speck of light , and nobody within miles of me , for all I could see or know . Suppose there was n't a human being anywhere who loved me -- for a father who had never seen me could n't love me very much , especially when he had never written a word to or about me . Would n't I cry , too ? Would n't I feel just so lonely and forsaken and frightened that I 'd have to cry ? Rilla hopped out . She picked Jims out of his basket and took him into her own bed . His hands were cold , poor mite . But he had promptly ceased to cry . And then , as she held him close to her in the darkness , suddenly Jims laughed -- a real , gurgly , chuckly , delighted , delightful laugh . `` Oh , you dear little thing ! '' exclaimed Rilla . `` Are you so pleased at finding you 're not all alone , lost in a huge , big , black room ? '' Then she knew she wanted to kiss him and she did . She kissed his silky , scented little head , she kissed his chubby little cheek , she kissed his little cold hands . She wanted to squeeze him -- to cuddle him , just as she used to squeeze and cuddle her kittens . Something delightful and yearning and brooding seemed to have taken possession of her . She had never felt like this before .
In a few minutes XXXXX was sound asleep ; and , as Rilla listened to his soft , regular breathing and felt the little body warm and contented against her , she realized that -- at last -- she loved her war-baby .
France Jims Rilla darkness graveyard head old room thing word