Susan Baker was not a happy woman; indeed, she was not. She had been looking forward to Little Jem's wedding for quite a while, but before she even had time to gossip over it with Mrs. Marshall Elliott, here was her little brown boy planning on leaving! She had been looking so forward to having him home for the summer, and now he was leaving—and for the States, no less! Who knew what would happen to her blessed boy in that heathenish spot. She felt so aggrieved that she simply had to pour out her troubles to Leslie Ford, who had come to talk the wedding over with Anne.

"It's not that I blame him, Mrs. Ford, dear," Susan said to the golden-haired, still beautiful woman, who immediately looked sympathetic while secretly wondering what on earth was going on. "He's only doing what he feels is his duty. I didn't argue when he felt it necessary to go off and fly against that Kaiser. And I do not plan to stand in his way now, and that you may tie to. If he has to leave, then Susan Baker will support him, yes, she will. But that does not mean I have to like it. It's not that I dislike Miss Irving, but the dear boy hasn't even proposed to her yet, and he is still just a child, and he really shouldn't feel"—

She was interrupted by Anne, much to Leslie's relief. With no knowledge of what had been happening the last twenty-four hours at Ingleside, she had been getting more and more confused.

"Oh—Leslie," said Anne, entering the kitchen. She looked so weary that Leslie immediately jumped up to kiss her. Susan stopped talking abruptly and pulled up a chair for "Mrs. Dr. dear." Anne sank into it gratefully. "Oh Susan, you are wonderful. Would it be too much trouble to ask you to make me a cup of tea?"

"Anything you want, Mrs. Dr. dear," said Susan stoutly. "And I'll fix one for Mrs. Ford dear, too. You just sit back and let Susan take care of things."

Anne pushed herself up. "Come, Leslie, let's go into the living room and be ladies of leisure while Susan is making the tea." She looped her arm through Leslie's. "Things have been happening here since last night."

"Anne, what is going on?" asked Leslie in bewilderment. "Susan starts going on about duty and Miss Irving, you look dead tired, and I don't hear any mention of Jem's wedding. Do tell a poor, confused friend what has happened."

Anne laughed. "Poor Susan. She is trying so hard to be supportive, but it is hard on her." She leaned forward in her seat and clasped her hands around her knees in her old fashion. "Leslie, you remember Cecily Irving, who was here at Christmastime?"

"Yes, of course," nodded Leslie.

"We just found out from Diana last night, after the wedding, that she has contracted tuberculosis and is in a sanatorium in New York State."

"Oh, how horrible," said Leslie in instant concern. "That poor, poor girl. Do they think she'll recover?"

"They aren't sure. Shirley telephoned Paul and Rachel this morning, but they say it's too soon to tell. And of course, Shirley is in love with her, and has been meaning to ask to court her this fall, and now this!"

"Oh Anne, he must be devastated."

Pain—and a hint of pride—filled Anne's eyes. "He is, but he is handling himself so well, Leslie. He has already withdrawn from Redmond, and has found a college near the sanatorium to which he's applied. He's talked things over with Gilbert, and they've decided that he'll go to college and work in New York so he can be near to Cecily and visit her on the weekends, and he'll stay with her as long as—well, as long as it takes. He told Paul of his decision this morning over the 'phone, and Paul was very thankful. Apparently trying to keep Cecily's spirits up has been the hardest thing."

Leslie drew in a deep breath. "Shirley's going to the States?"

"That he is, Mrs. Ford dear," said Susan, coming in with the tea tray. "And what he'll do there without any of his family nearby is beyond me. Why the Good Lord allows such places is a solemn mystery."

"But Susan," said Leslie, who really did feel for the Blythes, but couldn't help teasing a little. "Perhaps the Lord is sending Shirley there to civilize the country."

"Humph!" sniffed Susan, setting the tea down on a side table.

Before she could say more, Shirley entered the room. His face was tired, his eyes shadowed, but there was a determination about him that fairly exuded confidence. "Mother, Susan—oh, hello, Aunt Leslie—I was able to book passage on a steamer leaving Halifax next Friday."

Susan gaped. "So soon? Shirley, dear, it's only July. Why do you have to leave so soon?"

Shirley smiled. He crossed the room and took Susan's work-gnarled hands in his own. "Susan, I have to go be near Cecily. The sooner I can get there the better. Besides, it will take me a little while to find a job, and a place to live. You understand, don't you?"

Susan sniffled a little. "It has never been my good fortune to fall in love, Shirley dear, but I have been blessed to witness it in enough people that I can see why you must go. I did not before, but I do now."

Shirley bent and kissed her cheek, then turned to Anne. "Mother, I'm going upstairs to pack. Aunt Leslie, it was good to see you." He headed up the stairs and Susan, her eyes suspiciously damp, picked up the tea things and went back into the kitchen.

Leslie shook her head. "Oh Anne, why can life never be as easy for our children as we'd like it to be? You would think that they'd all suffered enough hurt throughout the war, and yet there still is more to come. Sometimes it seems as though the Almighty isn't dispensing justice anymore."

"Now Leslie, you know you don't believe that," said Anne quietly. "God gives us all the grace to endure what we must. And you know, Leslie, suffering really does build character. Rilla—all my children—grew so much during the war. And now here's Shirley. He's in pain, yes, but he's grown up almost overnight. Suddenly my 'little brown boy' is gone and a man is in his place, a man who is quietly confident and strong, with a great capacity for love and pain, and whose faith is stronger than it ever would have been had it not been tested. Oh, we may wish to shelter our children from 'life's stormy blasts' but it is those very blasts that teach them how to stand firm."

Leslie laughed a little. "Anne, you always know what to say. Forgive me, dear friend. It's so easy for me to doubt sometimes."

Anne patted her knee. "You've had more to challenge you, dearest. You've known suffering from a very young age. None of our children have had to endure that, thank heaven."

"Thank heaven," echoed Leslie, a shadow crossing her lovely face. Even after nearly thirty years of marriage to Owen Ford, she still had occasional nightmares about her past. She turned her thoughts back to Anne. "Anne, what will Shirley do if Cecily—if she—well, you know?"

"If she dies?" said Anne calmly. Leslie nodded mutely. "He'll endure," continued Anne. "He's faced that reality, and he's accepted that he might never have a future with Cecily. Right now, all he wants is to be near her for as long as possible. After that, he'll see what happens." She smiled a little. "He hasn't lost his good sense, even in the midst of all this."

"'Tribulation worketh patience; and patience, experience; and experience, hope; and hope maketh not ashamed; because the love of God is shed abroad in our hearts by the Holy Ghost which is given unto us,'" quoted Di unexpectedly, entering the room. "Shirley won't lose hope, and neither will we. Mother, I need to talk to you. Aunt Leslie, do you mind terribly if I steal Mother for a few moments?"

Leslie smiled warmly. "Of course not, dear heart. I'll go find my soon-to-be daughter and talk to her for a while."

Anne watched her friend exit gracefully, and then turned her attention toward her daughter. "What is it, Di darling?"

Di sat down in the chair Leslie had vacated, her face unusually serious. Anne observed her for a few moments, considering what a blend this daughter was of her and Gilbert. In face and form, Di resembled her, Anne, more than any of the other children. She had the same delicate features, the same slender figure, the same grey-green eyes and fine nose, the same ruddy curls. However, where Anne's feet were always off in the clouds somewhere, Di's were planted firmly on the ground. She had all her father's common sense and practical sense of humor. Instead of a dreamy gaze, her eyes usually had a twinkle of fun. Not so now, though. She was all seriousness, facing her mother as though it was her last day on earth.

"Mother," she began. "With all the fuss over Jem's wedding I haven't had a chance to talk to you. You know I've been looking for something to do with my life for the past year or so."

"Yes," said Anne, wondering why Di was bringing this up now.

"Well, I talked to Shirley, and I realized that I want to run an orphanage."

Anne blinked. She never would have thought of her daughter as an orphanage matron, but the more she thought about it, the more it seemed to be the perfect job for Di. "I think that's wonderful, dearest," she said honestly. "Will you start one here in the Island or will I be losing another of my children to the great world?"

"Well," said Di, clasping and unclasping her hands nervously. "I want to go to the States with Shirley."

Anne blinked again. "Why?" was all she could think of to say. "Aren't there enough Canadian orphans?"

Di laughed a little. "It's not that. If Shirley weren't leaving, I wouldn't think of going to the States. But he is, and I can't bear to think of him all alone, working, studying, worrying, with nobody there to keep him company or encourage him, or even give him a shoulder to cry on. And so I thought I would talk to you and Dad about it, and then talk to someone there about starting up a home for children who have lost their parents. What—what do you think?"

Anne sat in a daze. She had resigned herself to not seeing Shirley for a few years. She wasn't sure if she could let Di go as well. Yet, even as she thought that, she knew she couldn't stand in her daughter's path, if this was what she felt called to do, Anne would support her. She closed her eyes briefly, and then looked straight at Di. "If you want to do this, beloved, then I think you should go."

Di's smile, brilliant as a jewel, flashed out. "Oh, thank you! Thank you, Mother." She leapt up to hug her. "You are the best mother in the world." She dashed to the stairs. "I have to go tell Shirley."

The rest of that week was very hectic. Shirley, although he didn't sat much, was very touched that Di was coming with him. He knew that it would have been much easier for her to stay in Canada, but she was willing to sacrifice a little to help him. Patrick was the only one disappointed by it. He made plans to head back to Kingsport as soon as Shirley and Di left. Shirley told him he was welcome to stay, but Patrick admitted that he wouldn't feel comfortable without either of them there.

"You and Di are my only real friends," he sighed. "I know that sounds pathetic, but it's true. I don't know what I'm going to do without either of you."

Shirley mustered up a smile. "You could always come with us. Clarkson isn't the only school in the area, you know. There's a school for music teachers, and one for liberal arts in the next town over."

Patrick shook his head wryly. "Don't tempt me. No, my place is here, in Canada. I would never belong in the States." He clapped Shirley on the back. "Be sure to keep in touch, old man."

"You too," responded Shirley. "I don't think I would be making it through this time without your encouragement."

"Don't lose faith," said Patrick softly.

In the midst of all the packing and planning, Jem and Faith came back from their honeymoon. Looking at their glowing faces and seeing the special closeness between them, Shirley felt something squeeze at his heart. With Cecily so ill, he had no idea if he would ever be able to marry her. He didn't even know if she would last long enough for him to see her. All his hopes and dreams for the two of them had come crashing down around his ears, and he didn't know what the future held anymore.

"Don't lose faith."

Patrick's words echoed in his head. Shirley nodded to himself. It was reminiscent of Walter's encouragement to keep the faith. Whatever happened, he would trust, hope, and endure. He would not give in to despair, and he would persevere to whatever end the Lord had in store.

The days flew by, and before they knew it, Di and Shirley were standing on the deck of a steamship in Halifax harbor, preparing to sail for a little-known town called Potsdam, on the northern tip of New York State. All the goodbyes had been said, all the tears had been shed, and excitement and nervousness were warring within them. Brother and sister looked at each other as the ship slowly began to move.

"Here we go," said Di, a tremor noticeable in her voice.

Shirley squeezed her hand silently. He was thinking about Cecily.