s had all but broken through. But I
can't feel pride or exultation or anything but a gnawing anxiety over
Jem and Jerry and Mr. Grant. The casualty lists are coming out in the
papers every day--oh, there are so many of them. I can't bear to read
them for fear I'd find Jem's name--for there have been cases where
people have seen their boys' names in the casualty lists before the
official telegram came. As for the telephone, for a day or two I just
refused to answer it, because I thought I could not endure the horrible
moment that came between saying 'Hello' and hearing the response. That
moment seemed a hundred years long, for I was always dreading to hear
'There is a telegram for Dr. Blythe.' Then, when I had shirked for a
while, I was ashamed of leaving it all for mother or Susan, and now I
make myself go. But it never gets any easier. Gertrude teaches school
and reads compositions and sets examination papers just as she always
has done, but I know her thoughts are over in Flanders all the time.
Her eyes haunt me.

"And Kenneth is in khaki now, too. He has got a lieutenant's commission
and expects to go overseas in midsummer, so he wrote me. There wasn't
much else in the letter--he seemed to be thinking of nothing but going
overseas. I shall not see him again before he goes--perhaps I will
never see him again. Sometimes I ask myself if that evening at Four
Winds was all a dream. It might as well be--it seems as if it happened
in another life lived years ago--and everybody has forgotten it but me.

"Walter and Nan and Di came home last night from Redmond. When Walter
stepped off the train Dog Monday rushed to meet him, frantic with joy.
I suppose he thought Jem would be there, too. After the first moment,
he paid no attention to Walter and his pats, but just stood there,
wagging his tail nervously and looking past Walter at the other people
coming out, with eyes that made me choke up, for I couldn't help
thinking that, for all we knew, Monday might never see Jem come off
that train again. Then, when all the people were out, Monday looked up
at Walter, gave his hand a little lick as if to say, 'I know it isn't
your fault he didn't come--excuse me for feeling disappointed,' and
then he trotted back to his shed, with that funny little sidelong
waggle of his that always makes it seem that his hind legs are
travelling directly away from the point at which his forelegs are
aiming.

"We tried to coax him home with us--Di ev