"Fires do start
without their agency sometimes. And Uncle Mark MacAllister's barn was
burnt last week. You can hardly accuse the Germans of that, Susan."
"Indeed, Dr. dear, I do not know." Susan nodded slowly and portentously.
"Whiskers-on-the-moon was there that very day. The fire broke out half
an hour after he was gone. So much is a fact--but I shall not accuse a
Presbyterian elder of burning anybody's barn until I have proof.
However, everybody knows, Dr. dear, that both Uncle Mark's boys have
enlisted, and that Uncle Mark himself makes speeches at all the
recruiting meetings. So no doubt Germany is anxious to get square with
him."
"I could never speak at a recruiting meeting," said Cousin Sophia
solemnly. "I could never reconcile it to my conscience to ask another
woman's son to go, to murder and be murdered."
"Could you not?" said Susan. "Well, Sophia Crawford, I felt as if I
could ask anyone to go when I read last night that there were no
children under eight years of age left alive in Poland. Think of that,
Sophia Crawford"--Susan shook a floury finger at Sophia--"not--one--
child--under--eight--years--of--age!"
"I suppose the Germans has et 'em all," sighed Cousin Sophia.
"Well, no-o-o," said Susan reluctantly, as if she hated to admit that
there was any crime the Huns couldn't be accused of. "The Germans have
not turned cannibal yet--as far as I know.
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