ford, to tell a body that she will have some trouble before her life is over. I could do as much myself.”
“We all thought the war would be over in a few months then,” said Rilla wistfully. “When I look back it seems so ridiculous that we ever could have supposed it.”
“And now, two years later, it is no nearer the end than it was then,” said Miss Oliver gloomily.
Susan clicked her knitting needles briskly.
“Now, Miss Oliver, dear, you know that is not a reasonable remark. You know we are just two years nearer the end, whenever the end is appointed to be.”
“Albert read in a Montreal paper today that a war expert gives it as his opinion that it will last five years more,” was Cousin Sophia’s cheerful contribution.
“It can’t,” cried Rilla; then she added with a sigh, “Two years ago we would have said ‘It can’t last two years.’ But five more years of this!”
“If Roumania comes in, as I have strong hopes now of her doing, you will see the end in five months instead of five years,” said Susan.
“I’ve no faith in furriners,” sighed Cousin Sophia.
“The French are foreigners,” retorted Susan, “ and look at Verdun. One of your precious war experts says ‘there is not the slightest doubt now that Verdun is saved.’ Not the slightest doubt, Sophia Crawford. And think of all the Somme victories this blessed summer. The Big Push is on and the Russians are still going well. Why, General Haig says that the German officers he has captured admit that they have lost the war.”
“You can’t believe a word the Germans say,” pro-
