Mother's eyes never laugh now. It makes me feel
that I shouldn't laugh either--that it's wicked to feel laughy. And
it's so hard for me to keep from laughing, even if Jem is going to be a
soldier. But when I laugh I don't enjoy it either, as I used to do.
There's something behind it all that keeps hurting me--especially when
I wake up in the night. Then I cry because I am afraid that Kitchener of
Khartoum is right and the war will last for years and Jem may be--but
no, I won't write it. It would make me feel as if it were really going
to happen. The other day Nan said, 'Nothing can ever be quite the same
for any of us again.' It made me feel rebellious. Why shouldn't things
be the same again--when everything is over and Jem and Jerry are back?
We'll all be happy and jolly again and these days will seem just like a
bad dream.
"The coming of the mail is the most exciting event of every day now.
Father just snatches the paper--I never saw father snatch before--and
the rest of us crowd round and look at the headlines over his shoulder.
Susan vows she does not and will not believe a word the papers say but
she always comes to the kitchen door, and listens and then goes back,
shaking her head. She is terribly indignant all the time, but she cooks
up all the things Jem likes especially, and she did not make a single
bit of fuss when she found Monday asleep on the spare-room bed yesterday
right on top of Mrs.
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