Old Mrs.Albert Mead of Harbour Head manages a pair and a half a day but she has nothing to do but knit.

You know, Mrs.Dr.
dear, she has been bed-rid for years and she has been worrying terrible because she was no good to anybody and a dreadful expense, and yet could not die and be out of the way.

And now they tell me she is quite chirked up and resigned to living because there is something she can do, and she knits for the soldiers from daylight to dark.

Even Cousin Sophia has taken to knitting, Mrs.Dr.dear, and it is a good thing, for she cannot think of quite so many doleful speeches to make when her hands are busy with her needles instead of being folded on her stomach.
She thinks we will all be Germans this time next year but I tell her it will take more than a year to make a German out of me.

Do you know that Rick MacAllister has enlisted, Mrs.Dr.dear?
And they say Joe Milgrave would too, only he is afraid that if he does that Whiskers-on-the-moon will not let him have Miranda.