eyes red over their sorrows. Now we must go easy on all
that! Some of us are running on the emergency tank now, and there is
still a long way to go!

There are some things we try not to think about, especially at night.
There is no use--we have thought it all over and over again; and now
our brains act like machines which have been used for sewing something
too heavy for them, and which don't "feed" just right, and skip
stitches. So we try to do the things that we think ought to be done,
and take all the enjoyment we can from the day's work.

We have learned to divide our time into day-lengths, following the
plan of the water-tight compartments in ships, which are so arranged
that, if a leak occurs in one of these, the damaged one may be closed
up, and no harm is done to the ship. So it is in life. We can live so
completely one day at a time that no mournful yesterday can throw its
dull shadow on the sunshine of to-day; neither can any frowning
to-morrow reach back and with a black hand slap its smiling face.
To-day is a sacred thing if we know how to live it.

I am writing this on the fourth day of August, which is a day when
memory grows bitter and reflective if we are not careful. The August
sunshine lies rich and yellow on the fields, and almost perceptibly
the pale green of the wheat is absorbing the golden hue of the air.
The painted cup has faded from rosy pink to a dull, ashy color, and
the few wild roses which are still to be seen in the shaded places
have paled to a pastel shade. The purple and yellow of goldenrod, wild
sage, gallardia, and coxcomb are to be seen everywhere--the strong,
bold colors of the harvest.

Everything spoke of peace to-day as we drove through the country. The
air had the indescribably sweet smell of ripening grain,
clover-blooms, and new hay; for the high stands of wild hay around the
ponds and lakes are all being cut this year, and even the timothy
along the roads, and there was a mellow undertone of mowing machines
everywhere, like the distant hum of a city. Fat cattle stood knee-deep
in a stream as we passed, and others lay contentedly on the
clover-covered banks. One restless spirit, with a poke on her neck,
sniffed at us as we went by, and tossed her head in grim defiance of
public opinion and man-made laws. She had been given a bad name--and
was going to live up to it!

Going over a hill, we came upon a woman driving a mower. It was the
first reminder of the war. She was a