names, in her seventy-first year than she had ever known in her schooldays.
“I have not such a poor opinion of the Almighty, or of Kitchener,” said Susan stubbornly. “I see there is a Bernstoff man in the States who says that the war is over and Germany has won,—and they tell me Whiskers-on-the-Moon says the same thing and is quite pleased about it, but I could tell them both that it is chancy work counting chickens even the day before they are hatched, and bears have been known to live long after their skins were sold.”
“Why ain’t the British navy doing more?” persisted Cousin Sophia.
“Even the British navy cannot sail on dry land, Sophia Crawford. I have not given up hope, and I shall not, Tomascow and Mobbage and all such barbarous names to the contrary notwithstanding. Mrs. Dr. dear, can you tell me if R-h-e-i-m-s is Rimes or Reems or Rames or Rems?”
“I believe it’s really more like ‘Rhangs’, Susan.”
“Oh, those French names,” groaned Susan.
“They tell me the Germans has about ruined the church there,” sighed Cousin Sophia. “I always thought the Germans was Christians.”
“A church is bad enough but their doings in Belgium are far worse,” said Susan grimly. “ When I heard the doctor reading about them bayonetting the babies, Mrs. Dr. dear, I just thought, ‘Oh, what if it were our Little Jem!’ I was stirring the soup at the time, as you know, when that thought came to me and I just felt that if I could have lifted that saucepan full of that boiling soup and thrown it at the Kaiser I would not have lived in vain.”
