Alas, war has already made changes in my Familey.  George, the butler, has felt the call of Duty and has enlisted, and we now have a William who chips the best china, and looks like a German although he says not, and willing to put out the Natioual Emblem every morning from a window in father’s dressing room.  Which if he is a Spy he would probably not do, or at least without being compeled to.

I said nothing about the G. A. C. during dinner, as I was waiting to see if father would give me ten dollars before I organized it.  But I am a person of strong feelings, and I was sad and depressed, thinking of my dear Country at War and our beginning with soup and going on through as though nothing was happening.  I therfore observed that I considered it unpatriotic, with the Enemy at our gatez, to have Sauterne on the table and a Cocktail beforehand, as well as expencive tobacco and so on, even although economising in other ways, such as furnature.

“What’s that?” my father said to me, in a sharp tone.

“Let her alone, father,” Leila said.  “She’s just dramatising herself as usual.  We’re probably in for a dose of Patriotism.”

I would perhaps have made a sharp anser, but a street piano outside began to play The Star-Spangled Banner.  I then stood up, of course, and mother said:  “Sit down, for heaven’s sake, Barbara.”

“Not until our National Anthem is finished, mother,” I said in a tone of gentle reproof.  “I may not vote or pay taxes, but this at least I can do.”

Well, father got up to, and drank his coffee standing.  But he gave William a dollar for the man outside, and said to tell him to keep away at meal times as even patriotism requires nourishment.

After dinner in the drawing room, mother said that she was going to let me give a Luncheon.

“There are about a dosen girls coming out when you do, Bab,” she said.  “And you might as well begin to get acquainted.  We can have it at the Country Club, and have some boys, and tennis afterwards, if the courts are ready.”

“Mother!” I cried, stupafied.  “How can you think of Social pleasures when the enemy is at our gates?”

“Oh nonsense, Barbara,” she replied in a cold tone.  “We intend to do our part, of course.  But what has that to do with a small Luncheon?”

“I do not feel like festivaty,” I said.  “And I shall be very busy this holaday, because although young there are some things I can do.”

Now I have always loved my mother, although feeling sometimes that she had forgoten about having been a girl herself once, and also not being much given to Familey embrases because of her hair being marceled and so on.  I therfore felt that she would probably be angry and send me to bed.

But she was not.  She got up very sudenly and came around the table while William was breaking a plate in the pantrey, and put her hand on my shoulder.

“Dear little Bab!” she said.  “You are right and I am wrong, and we will just turn in and do what we can, all of us.  We will give the party money to the Red Cross.”