Jem was in camp on Salisbury Plain and was writing gay , cheery letters home in spite of the mud . Walter was at Redmond and his letters to Rilla were anything but cheerful . She never opened one without a dread tugging at her heart that it would tell her he had enlisted . His unhappiness made her unhappy . She wanted to put her arm round him and comfort him , as she had done that day in Rainbow Valley . She hated everybody who was responsible for Walter 's unhappiness . `` 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 XXXXX shy , wistful girlishness of her .
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