The door bell rang , Rilla turned reluctantly stairwards . She must answer it -- there was no one else in the house ; but she hated the idea of callers just then . She went downstairs slowly , and opened the front door . A man in khaki was standing on the steps -- a tall fellow , with dark eyes and hair , and a narrow white scar running across his brown cheek . Rilla stared at him foolishly for a moment . Who was it ? She ought to know him -- there was certainly something very familiar about him -- `` Rilla-my-Rilla , '' he said . `` Ken , '' gasped Rilla . Of course , it was Ken -- but he looked so much older -- he was so much changed -- that scar -- the lines about his eyes and lips -- her thoughts went whirling helplessly . Ken took the uncertain hand she held out , and looked at her . The slim Rilla of four years ago had rounded out into symmetry . He had left a school girl , and he found a woman -- a woman with wonderful eyes and a dented lip , and rose-bloom cheek -- a woman altogether beautiful and desirable -- the woman of his dreams . `` Is it Rilla-my-Rilla ? '' he asked , meaningly . Emotion shook Rilla from head to foot . Joy -- happiness -- sorrow -- fear -- every passion that had wrung her heart in those four long years seemed to surge up in her soul for a moment as the deeps of being were stirred . She had tried to speak ; at first voice would not come . CHAPTER I . THE HOME OF OUR FATHERS `` I do like a road , because you can be always wondering what is at the end of it . '' The Story Girl said that once upon a time .
Felix and I , on the May morning when we left Toronto for Prince Edward Island , had not then heard her say it , and , indeed , were but barely aware of the existence XXXXX such a person as the Story Girl .
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