"Well, no, I suppose not, unless we'd explained."
"Could we ask Norty to let us save our jam and send it to the soldiers?"
Marjorie shook her head.
"We couldn't get it out to the front, and they've heaps of it at the Red Cross Hospital—at least, Elaine says so, and she helps in the pantry at present."
"We might sell our hair for the benefit of the Belgians," remarked Betty, gazing thoughtfully at Marjorie's long plait and Sylvia's silken curls.
"Oh, I dare say, when your own's short!" responded Sylvia indignantly. "I might as well suggest selling our ponies, because you've got one and I haven't."
"If I wrote a patriotic poem, I wonder how much it would cost to get it printed?" asked Enid. "I'd make all the girls in our form buy copies."
"But wouldn't that give away our secret?"
With the enthusiasm of the newly-formed society still hot upon her, Marjorie started for her fortnightly exeat at her aunt's. She felt that the atmosphere of The Tamarisks would be stimulating. Everybody connected with that establishment was doing something for the war. Uncle Andrew was on a military tribunal, Aunt Ellinor presided over numerous committees to send parcels to prisoners, or to aid soldiers' orphans. Elaine's life centred round the Red Cross Hospital, and Norman and Wilfred were at the front. She found her aunt, with the table spread over with papers, busily scribbling letters.