"You can't believe a word the Germans say," protested Cousin Sophia.
"There is no sense in believing a thing just because you'd like to
believe it, Susan Baker. The British have lost millions of men at the
Somme and how far have they got? Look facts in the face, Susan Baker,
look facts in the face."

"They are wearing the Germans out and so long as that happens it does
not matter whether it is done a few miles east or a few miles west. I
am not," admitted Susan in tremendous humility, "I am not a military
expert, Sophia Crawford, but even I can see that, and so could you if
you were not determined to take a gloomy view of everything. The Huns
have not got all the cleverness in the world. Have you not heard the
story of Alistair MacCallum's son Roderick, from the Upper Glen? He is
a prisoner in Germany and his mother got a letter from him last week.
He wrote that he was being very kindly treated and that all the
prisoners had plenty of food and so on, till you would have supposed
everything was lovely. But when he signed his name, right in between
Roderick and MacCallum, he wrote two Gaelic words that meant 'all lies'
and the German censor did not understand Gaelic and thought it was all
part of Roddy's name. So he let it pass, never dreaming how he was
diddled. Well, I am going to leave the war to Haig for the rest of the
day and make a frosting for my chocolate cake. And when it is made I
shall put it on the top shelf. The last one I made I left it on the
lower shelf and little Kitchener sneaked in and clawed all the icing
off and ate it. We had company for tea that night and when I went to
get my cake what a sight did I behold!"

"Has that pore orphan's father never been heerd from yet?" asked Cousin
Sophia.

"Yes, I had a letter from him in July," said Rilla. "He said that when
he got word of his wife's death and of my taking the baby--Mr. Meredith
wrote him, you know--he wrote right away, but as he never got any
answer he had begun to think his letter must have been lost."

"It took him two years to begin to think it," said Susan scornfully.
"Some people think very slow. Jim Anderson has not got a scratch, for
all he has been two years in the trenches. A fool for luck, as the old
proverb says."

"He wrote very nicely about Jims and said he'd like to see him," said
Rilla. "So I wrote and told him all about the wee man, and sent him
snapshots. Jims will be two years old next week and he is a perfect
duck."