ht. Now,
somehow, these pages were hard to fill. Omitting the very things you
were dying to say, the precious, the intimate things--what was
there left? He and she had, at their meetings and in their former
correspondence, invented many delightful little pet names for each
other. Now those names were taboo; or, at any rate, they might as well
be. The thought of Mrs. Fosdick's sniff of indignant disgust at finding
her daughter referred to as some one's ownest little rosebud withered
that bud before it reached the paper.

And Madeline's letters to him were quite as unsatisfactory. They were
lengthy, but oh, so matter of fact! Saharas of fact without one oasis of
sentiment. She was well and she had done this and that and had been
to see such and such plays and operas. Father was well and very busy.
Mother, too, was well, so was Googoo--but these last two bits of news
failed to comfort him as they perhaps should. He could only try to glean
between the lines, and as Mrs. Fosdick had raked between those lines
before him, the gleaning was scant picking indeed.

He found himself growing disconsolate and despondent. Summer seemed ages
away. And when at last it should come--what would happen then? He could
see her only when properly chaperoned, only when Mother, and probably
Googoo, were present. He flew for consolation to the Muse and the
Muse refused to console. The poems he wrote were "blue" and despairing
likewise. Consequently they did not sell. He was growing desperate,
ready for anything. And something came. Germany delivered to our
Government its arrogant mandate concerning unlimited submarine warfare.
A long-suffering President threw patience overboard and answered that
mandate in unmistakable terms. Congress stood at his back and behind
them a united and indignant people. The United States declared war upon
the Hun.

South Harniss, like every other community, became wildly excited.
Captain Zelotes Snow's gray eyes flashed fiery satisfaction. The flags
at the Snow place and at the lumber yard flew high night and day. He
bought newspapers galore and read from them aloud at meals, in the
evenings, and before breakfast. Issachar, as usual, talked much and said
little. Laban Keeler's comments were pithy and dryly pointed. Albert was
very quiet.

But one forenoon he spoke. Captain Lote was in the inner office, the
morning newspaper in his hand, when his grandson entered and closed the
door behind him. The captain looked