And there Mrs. Lewis is. In her nervous dread of the charity that she sees coming, she slaps the children twice as often as she used to and the baby cries all day.
But, Mrs. Lewis, listen. Don't even ask the Exemption Board to release your husband. It's your chance to be a patriot and let him go. And this war may not be as bad for you as you think. There are women on the other side could tell you. Suppose, suppose you never had to do another week's baking and you were rested enough to love the last baby as you did the first, and all the children could have shoes when they needed them, and there was money enough beside for a new spring hat and the right fixings to make you pretty once more. So that your man coming back from the front when the war is won, may fall in love with you all over again. No, it's not heaven I'm talking about. It's here in a war-ridden world. This is no fairy tale. It's the truth in Britain and France, as it's going to be in the United States.
"Somewhere in England" Mrs. Black, when her country took up arms in 1914, was as anxious and concerned as you are to-day. Her man was a car-cleaner who earned 22 shillings a week on the Great Western Railway. That seems appallingly little from our point of view. But thousands of British working class families were accustomed to living on such a wage. The Blacks had to. It is true there wasn't much margin for joy in it. And when the call to the colours came, it was to Mr. Black an invitation
