makes one feel!' Those needles!
Resistance--acquiescence? Both perhaps. The oldest lady in the world,
with her lips moving at the corners, keeping things in, had lived her
life, and knew it. How dreadful to live on when you were of no more
interest to anyone, but must just "pass the time" and die. But how much
more dreadful to "pass the time" when you were strong, and life and love
were yours for the taking! 'I shan't answer Daddy,' she thought.

II

The maid, who one Saturday in July opened the door to Jimmy Fort, had
never heard the name of Laird, for she was but a unit in the ceaseless
procession which pass through the boarding-houses of places subject to
air-raids. Placing him in a sitting-room, she said she would find Miss
'Allow. There he waited, turning the leaves of an illustrated Journal,
wherein Society beauties; starving Servians, actresses with pretty
legs, prize dogs, sinking ships, Royalties, shells bursting, and padres
reading funeral services, testified to the catholicity of the public
taste, but did not assuage his nerves. What if their address were not
known here? Why, in his fear of putting things to the test, had he let
this month go by? An old lady was sitting by the hearth, knitting, the
click of whose needles blended with the buzzing of a large bee on the
window-pane. 'She may know,' he thought, 'she looks as if she'd been
here for ever.' And approaching her, he said:

"I can assure you those socks are very much appreciated, ma'am."

The old lady bridled over her spectacles.

"It passes the time," she said.

"Oh, more than that; it helps to win the war, ma'am."

The old lady's lips moved at the corners; she did not answer. 'Deaf!' he
thought.

"May I ask if you knew my friends, Doctor and Mrs. Laird, and Miss
Pierson?"

The old lady cackled gently.

"Oh, yes! A pretty young girl; as pretty as life. She used to sit with
me. Quite a pleasure to watch her; such large eyes she had."

"Where have they gone? Can you tell me?"

"Oh, I don't know at all."

It was a little cold douche on his heart. He longed to say: 'Stop
knitting a minute, please. It's my life, to know.' But the tune of the
needles answered: 'It's my life to knit.' And he turned away to the
window.

"She used to sit just there; quite still; quite still."

Fort looked down at the window-seat. So, she used to sit just here,
quite still.

"What a dreadful war this is!" said the old lady. "Have you been at the
fro