BETSY'S PIES AGAIN
Mr. Officer. Some of us ought to go. We talk about it often. But Dave's young and reckless, and Jon's handsome. I hate to think about 'em being shot in the legs or cut in the face with sabers. Or with just one leg or arm. I see so many cripples coming home. I wish we could have war without shooting or cutting. When we get through all the nice young men will be on crutches. What then? Some one has to be licked. And the other side'll need the young men to build up with again. Why, we won't have anything when it's done and will have to begin right on the ground—after everything's shot and burned up. No one but me ain't looking ahead, I expect. Look at us. It was hard enough getting a living out of the old farm before. What do you think it's going to be afterward? And, then, Mr. Officer, though I ain't as pretty as my sons, they wouldn't let me go alone—though I'm willing if that'll keep them all in one piece. You see—I suppose you suspect it, anyhow—we ain't no fighters, and we hate to hurt and kill things—and to be
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