cited it, since, as the well-known writer, Mr. Irvin Cobb, has observed, it can only be properly sung by a boy whose voice is changing. It was evident, however, that she was increasingly restive, and as I look back I wonder that we did not realize that there was danger in her very repression.
As Aggie has said, Tish is volcanic in her temperament; she remains inactive for certain preparatory periods, but when she overflows she does so thoroughly.
The most ominous sign was when, in July of 1917, she stopped knitting and took up French.
Only the other day, while house cleaning, she came across the aëroplane photograph of the French village of V, where our extraordinary experience befell us, and she turned on us both with that satiric yet kindly gaze which we both knew so well.
"If you two idiots had had your way," she observed, "I should have been knitting so many socks for Charlie Sands that he'd have had to be a centipede to wear 'em all, instead of"
"Tish," Aggie said in a shivering voice, "I wish you wouldn't talk about it. I can't bear it, that's all. It sets me shivering."
Tish eyed her coldly. "The body is entirely controlled by the mind, Aggie," she reminded her.
