"It is up to Jean. If she isn't afraid, we needn't worry."

"I'm not afraid of anything."

He smiled at her. She was so pretty and slim and feminine in her white
gown, with a string of pearls on her white neck. He liked pretty
things and he liked her fearlessness. He had never been afraid. It
pleased him that his daughter should share his courage.

"Perhaps, if I am not too busy, I will come for you the next time you
go to the shop. Would walking with me break the spell of the wind and
wet?"

"You know it wouldn't. It would be quite--heavenly--Daddy."

After dinner, Doctor McKenzie read the evening paper. Jean sat on the
rug in front of the fire and knitted for the soldiers. She had made
sweaters until it seemed sometimes as if she saw life through a haze of
olive-drab.

"I am going to knit socks next," she told her father.

He looked up from his paper. "Did you ever stop to think what it means
to a man over there when a woman says 'I'm going to knit socks'?"

Jean nodded. That was one of the charms which her father had for her.
He saw things. It was tired soldiers at this moment, marching in the
cold and needing--socks.

Hilda, having no vision, remarked from the corner where she sat with