The Next of Kin | Page 5

one unlightened tragedy of the
world to-day is Germany.
I thought of these things that night when I was being entertained at the
Southern woman's hospitable home.
"It pretty near took a war to make these English women friendly to
each other and to Americans. I lived here six months before any of
them called on me, and then I had to go and dig them out; but I was not
going to let them go on in such a mean way. They told me then that
they were waiting to see what church I was going to; and then I rubbed
it into them that they were a poor recommend for any church, with their
mean, unneighborly ways; for if a church does not teach people to be
friendly I think it ought to be burned down, don't you? I told them I
could not take much stock in that hymn about 'We shall know each
other there,' when they did not seem a bit anxious about knowing each
other here, which is a heap more important; for in heaven we will all
have angels to play with, but here we only have each other, and it is

right lonesome when they won't come out and play! But I tell you
things have changed for the better since the war, and now we knit and
sew together, and forgive each other for being Methodists and
Presbyterians; and, do you know? I made a speech one night, right out
loud so everybody could hear me, in a Red Cross meeting, and that is
what I thought that I could never do. But I got feeling so anxious about
the prisoners of war in Germany that I couldn't help making an appeal
for them; and I was so keen about it, and wanted every one of those
dear boys to get a square meal, that I forgot all about little Mrs. Price,
and I was not caring a cent whether she was doing herself proud or not.
And when I got done the people were using their handkerchiefs, and I
was sniffing pretty hard myself, but we raised eighty-five dollars then
and there, and now I know I will never be scared again. I used to think
it was so ladylike to be nervous about speaking, and now I know it is
just a form of selfishness. I was simply scared that I would not do well,
thinking all the time of myself. But now everything has changed and I
am ready to do anything I can."
"Go on," I said; "tell me some more. Remember that you women to-day
made me promise to write down how this war is hitting us, and I
merely promised to write what I heard and saw. I am not going to make
up anything, so you are all under obligation to tell me all you can. I am
not to be the author of this book, but only the historian."
"It won't be hard," she said encouragingly. "There is so much
happening every day that it will be harder to decide what to leave out
than to find things to put in. In this time of excitement the lid is off, I
tell you; the bars are down; we can see right into the hearts of people. It
is like a fire or an earthquake when all the doors are open and the folks
are carrying their dearest possessions into the street, and they are all
real people now, and they have lost all their little mincing airs and all
their lawdie-daw. But believe me, we have been some fiddlers! When I
look around this house I see evidence of it everywhere; look at that
abomination now"--She pointed to an elaborately beaded match-safe
which hung on the wall.
It bore on it the word, "Matches," in ornate letters, all made of beads,

but I noticed that its empty condition belied the inscription.
"Think of the hours of labor that some one has put on that," she went
on scornfully, "and now it is such an aristocrat that it takes up all its
time at that and has no time to be useful. I know now that it never
really intended to hold matches, but simply lives to mock the honest
seeker who really needs a match. I have been a real sinner myself," she
went on after a pause; "I have been a fiddler, all right. I may as well
make a clean breast of it,--I made that match-safe and nearly bored my
eyes out doing it, and was so nervous and cross that I was not fit to live
with."
"I can't believe that," I said.
"Well, I sure was some snappy. I have teased out towel ends, and made
patterns on them; I've punched