dious young lady’s famous biological and microscopic ability holding out an opportunity for most practical work; for Branton Hills’ shot-torn boys would soon start drifting in. And thus it was; with Lucy, Sarah and Virginia inspiring Branton Hills’ womanhood to knit, knit, knit! You saw knitting on many a porch; knitting in railway trains; knitting during band music in City Park; knitting in shady arbors out at our big zoo; at many a woman’s club,—and,—actually, knitting in church!! Finally a big factory, down by our railway station, put out a call for “anybody, man or woman, who wants to work on munitions;” and many a dainty Branton Hills girl sat at big, unfamiliar stamping, punching, grinding, or polishing outfits; tiring frail young backs and straining soft young hands; knowing that this factory’s output might—and probably would,—rob a woman across that big Atlantic of a husband or son,—but, still, it is war!
Gadsby, smoking on his ivy-clad porch, as his Lady was industriously knitting, said, in a sort of soliloquy:—
“War! That awful condition which a famous military man in command of a division, long ago, said was synonymous with Satan and all his cohorts! War! That awful condition of human minds coming down from way, way back of all his-
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