_To Mrs. Robinson, The Wigwam, Threads, Nr. Bradford._
_From Mrs. Cushat, The Vicarage, Yellowcubs, Leicestershire._
_Oct. 8, 1914._
DEAREST SISSIE,--I have been far too busy to write before. In this
"Clash of Nations," as James finely said in his last sermon, I am
distracted to find suitable holiday amusements for the children.
Fräulein should have returned from her holiday in Berlin six weeks ago
and was prevented with all her boxes ready packed to come; but perhaps
it's as well, as James speaks of the Germans in the strongest
terms--quite rightly so, of course; but one would be sorry for the poor
girl to feel ashamed of her relations.
Our only alien is poor old Miss Schmidt, who has taught music for thirty
years. We all try to be lenient and nice to her at my work-parties,
which are widely attended. James calls them a mixture of Dorcas and
Bellona--ask Harry to explain. The boys are helping to make saddle-pads
for the horses at the front. They try each pad on our old Dobbin and are
wild for him to go on service at once; but James has just decided that a
Vicar's pony's place is in the last line of the Reserves.
You asked me how long the war would continue. We have had quite a lot of
talk with the Admiral and dear old General Ramrod about it; but James
says, with the utmost respect for their characters, that these naval and
military men are so hide-bound. In his opinion hostilities will be over
in two months from now. He says:
When the British Lion roars
Foreign legions go indoors!
You know his funny way. The boys are now shouting this all about the
garden, and trying to roar like lions. I have the greatest difficulty in
preventing them from going to fight other children out of sheer
patriotism. The darlings do look so nice and smart. I could not resist
buying them flags and tin swords and helmets like real soldiers in spite
of the Moratorium, which I called by mistake _crematorium_, and James
made delightful fun about it. He also said some clever thing about banks
which I can't recall; it may come to me later.
Every one talks of nothing but the war. Even the errand-boys must have
their say; I caught one of them setting up our nice loin chops in the
dusty drive and knocking them down with pebbles for bombs; while the
girl who fetched the laundry stayed for an hour in the kitchen teaching
cook First Aid bandaging, and dinner was spoilt in consequence. However
these are all the little discomforts of war and must be borne in a
cheerful spirit.
Your affectionate Sister, MARY.
P.S.--Dear James's joke was about John Bull and bullion. Harry will
understand and appreciate it.
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