Jem departed whistling `` Wi ' a hundred pipers and a ' and a ' , '' and Walter stood for a long time where he was . There was a little frown on his forehead . This had all come up with the blackness and suddenness of a thundercloud . A few days ago nobody had even thought of such a thing . It was absurd to think of it now . Some way out would be found . War was a hellish , horrible , hideous thing -- too horrible and hideous to happen in the twentieth century between civilized nations . The mere thought of it was hideous , and made Walter unhappy in its threat to the beauty of life . He would not think of it -- he would resolutely put it out of his mind . How beautiful the old Glen was , in its August ripeness , with its chain of bowery old homesteads , tilled meadows and quiet gardens . The western sky was like a great golden pearl . Far down the harbour was frosted with a dawning moonlight . The air was full of exquisite sounds -- sleepy robin whistles , wonderful , mournful , soft murmurs of wind in the twilit trees , rustle of aspen poplars talking in silvery whispers and shaking their dainty , heart-shaped leaves , lilting young laughter from the windows of rooms where the girls were making ready for the dance . The world was steeped in maddening loveliness of sound and colour . He would think only of these things and of the deep , subtle joy they gave him . `` Anyhow , no one will expect me to go , '' he thought . `` As Jem says , typhoid has seen to that . '' Rilla was leaning out of her room window , dressed for the dance . A yellow pansy slipped from her hair and fell out over the sill like a falling star of gold . She caught at it vainly -- but there were enough left .
Miss Oliver had woven a little wreath XXXXX them for her pet 's hair .
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