ammunition.

It is a foolish cry today, since the only nation in the world ready for
this war was the nation that planned and began it.

Even this disaster--and there is no denying that it is one--does not
daunt these wonderful people. They still see two things, the Germans
did not get to Paris, nor have they got to Calais, so, in spite of their
real feats of arms--one cannot deny those--an endeavor must be
judged by its purpose, and, so judged, the Germans have, thus far,
failed. Luckily the French race is big enough to see this and take
heart of grace. God knows it needs to, and thank Him it can.

Don't you imagine that I am a bit down. I am not. I am cold. But, when
I think of the discomfort in the hurriedly constructed trenches, where
the men are in the water to their ankles, what does my being cold in a
house mean? Just a record of discomfort as my part of the war, and it
seems, day after day, less important. But oh, the monotony and
boredom of it! Do you wonder that I want to hibernate?

X

March 23, 1915

Can it be possible that it is two months since I wrote to you? I could
not realize it when I got your reproachful letter this morning. But I
looked in my letter-book, and found that it was true.

The truth is--I have nothing to write about. The winter and its
discomforts do not inspire me any more than the news from the front
does, and no need to tell you that does not make one talkative.

It has been a damp and nasty and changeable winter--one of the
most horrid I ever experienced. There has been almost no snow.
Almost never has the ground frozen, and not only is there mud, mud
everywhere, but freshets also. Today the Marne lies more like an
open sea than a river across the fields in the valley. One can imagine
what it is like out there in the trenches.

We have occasional lovely sunny days, when it is warmer out-of-
doors than in--and when those days came, I dug a bit in the dirt,
planted tulips and sweet peas.

Sometimes I have managed to get fuel, and when that happened, I
was ever so cosy in the house. Usually, when the weather was at its
worst, I had none, and was as nicely uncomfortable as my worst
enemy could ask.

As a rule my days have been divided into two parts. In the forenoon I
have hovered about the gate watching for the newspaper. In the
afternoon I have re-chewed the news in the vain endeavor to extract
something encouraging between the lines,--and failed. Up to date I