battle-field, or that in some way she may be permitted to serve her
country.

I am afraid I am not very strict about talking in class these days,
but, somehow, courage, nobility, and self-sacrifice seem just as
worthy of attention as "motor ideas," and "apperceptions."

A British guest who hates everything Japanese says my enthusiasm "is
quite annoying, you know," but, dear me, I don't mind him. What could
you expect of a person who eats pie with a spoon? Why my enthusiasm is
just cutting its eye-teeth! The whole country is a-thrill, and even a
wooden Indian would get excited.

Every afternoon we walk down on the sea wall and watch the
preparations going on for a long siege. Hundreds of big ships fill the
harbor to say nothing of the small ones, and there are thousands of
coolies working like mad. I could tell you many interesting things,
but I am afraid of the censor. If he deciphers all my letters home,
he will probably have nervous prostration by the time the war is over.

Many of the war ships are coaled by women who carry heavy baskets on
each end of a pole swung across the shoulder, and invariably a baby on
their backs. It is something terrible the way the women work, often
pulling loads that would require a horse at home. They go plodding
past us on the road, dressed as men, mouth open, eyes straining, all
intelligence and interest gone from their faces.

One day as Miss Lessing and I were resting by the roadside, one of
these women stopped for breath just in front of us. She was pushing a
heavy cart and her poor old body was trembling from the strain. Her