Rilla felt Carl 's going keenly . They had always been cronies and playmates . He was only a little older than she was and they had been children in Rainbow Valley together . She recalled all their old pranks and escapades as she walked slowly home alone . The full moon peeped through the scudding clouds with sudden floods of weird illumination , the telephone wires sang a shrill weird song in the wind , and the tall spikes of withered , grey-headed golden-rod in the fence corners swayed and beckoned wildly to her like groups of old witches weaving unholy spells . On such a night as this , long ago , Carl would come over to Ingleside and whistle her out to the gate . `` Let 's go on a moon-spree , Rilla , '' he would say , and the two of them would scamper off to Rainbow Valley . Rilla had never been afraid of his beetles and bugs , though she drew a hard and fast line at snakes . They used to talk together of almost everything and were teased about each other at school ; but one evening when they were about ten years of age they had solemnly promised , by the old spring in Rainbow Valley , that they would never marry each other . Alice Clow had `` crossed out '' their names on her slate in school that day , and it came out that `` both married . '' They did not like the idea at all , hence the mutual vow in Rainbow Valley . There was nothing like an ounce of prevention . Rilla laughed over the old memory -- and then sighed . That very day a dispatch from some London paper had contained the cheerful announcement that `` the present moment is the darkest since the war began . '' It was dark enough , and Rilla wished desperately that she could do something besides waiting and serving at home , as day after day the Glen boys she had known went away . If she were only a boy , speeding in khaki by Carl 's side to the Western front ! She had wished that in a burst of romance when Jem had gone , without , perhaps , really meaning it . She meant it now . There were moments when waiting at home , in safety and comfort , seemed an unendurable thing . The moon burst triumphantly through an especially dark cloud and shadow and silver chased each other in waves over the Glen .
Rilla remembered one moonlit evening XXXXX childhood when she had said to her mother , `` The moon just looks like a sorry , sorry face . ''
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