a mountain-top in
Alsace, and, would you believe it, he has been there twenty months,
and has never seen a German.

Of course, when you think of it, it is not so queer, really. The heavy
artillery is miles behind the infantry, and of course the gunners can't
see what they are firing at--that is the business of the officers and the
eyes of the artillery--the aeroplanes. Still, it is queer to think of
firing big guns twenty months and never seeing the targets. Odder
still, Joseph tells me he has never seen a wounded or a dead
soldier since the war began. Put these little facts away to ponder on.
It is a war of strange facts.

XXIII

April 28, 1916

I have lived through such nerve-trying days lately that I rarely feel in
the humor to write a letter.

Nothing happens here.

The spring has been as changeable as even that which New England
knows. We had four fairly heavy snowstorms in the first fortnight of
the awful fighting of Verdun. Then we had wet, and then unexpected
heat--the sort of weather in which everyone takes cold. I get up in the
morning and dress like a polar bear for a drive, and before I get back
the sun is so hot I feel like stripping.

There is nothing for anyone to do but wait for news from the front. It is
the same old story--they are see-sawing at Verdun, with the Germans
much nearer than at the beginning--and still we have the firm faith
that they will never get there. Doesn't it seem to prove that had
Germany fought an honest war she could never have invaded
France?

Now, in addition, we've all this strain of waiting for news from Dublin.
The affairs of the whole world are in a mess.

There are many aspects of the war which would interest you if you
were sitting down on my hilltop with me--conditions which may seem
more significant than they are. For example, the Government has
sent back from the front a certain number of men to aid in the farm
work until the planting is done. Our commune does not get many of
these. Our old men and boys and women do the work fairly well, with
the aid of a few territorials, who guard the railway two hours each
night and work in the fields in the daytime. The women here are used
to doing field work, and don't mind doing more than their usual stunt.

I often wonder if some of the women are not better off than in the
days before the war. They do about the same work, only they are not
bothered by their men.

In the days before the war the men wor