orn with. But he is a good letter writer at least, and we
do not know if the Hughes man is even that. All things being considered
I commend the Yankees. They have shown good sense and I do not mind
admitting it. Cousin Sophia wanted them to elect Roosevelt, and is much
disgruntled because they would not give him a chance. I had a hankering
for him myself, but we must believe that Providence over-rules these
matters and be satisfied--though what the Almighty means in this affair
of Rumania I cannot fathom--saying it with all reverence."

Susan fathomed it--or thought she did--when the Asquith ministry went
down and Lloyd George became Premier.

"Mrs. Dr. dear, Lloyd George is at the helm at last. I have been
praying for this for many a day. Now we shall soon see a blessed
change. It took the Rumanian disaster to bring it about, no less, and
that is the meaning of it, though I could not see it before. There will
be no more shilly-shallying. I consider that the war is as good as won,
and that I shall tie to, whether Bucharest falls or not."

Bucharest did fall--and Germany proposed peace negotiations. Whereat
Susan scornfully turned a deaf ear and absolutely refused to listen to
such proposals. When President Wilson sent his famous December peace
note Susan waxed violently sarcastic.

"Woodrow Wilson is going to make peace, I understand. First Henry Ford
had a try at it and now comes Wilson. But peace is not made with ink,
Woodrow, and that you may tie to," said Susan, apostrophizing the
unlucky President out of the kitchen window nearest the United States.
"Lloyd George's speech will tell the Kaiser what is what, and you may
keep your peace screeds at home and save postage."

"What a pity President Wilson can't hear you, Susan," said Rilla slyly.

"Indeed, Rilla dear, it is a pity that he has no one near him to give
him good advice, as it is clear he has not, in all those Democrats and
Republicans," retorted Susan. "I do not know the difference between
them, for the politics of the Yankees is a puzzle I cannot solve, study
it as I may. But as far as seeing through a grindstone goes, I am
afraid--" Susan shook her head dubiously, "that they are all tarred
with the same brush."

"I am thankful Christmas is over," Rilla wrote in her diary during the
last week of a stormy December. "We had dreaded it so--the first
Christmas since Courcelette. But we had all the Merediths down for
dinner and nobody tried to be gay or ch