I wish I could write down in these pages all the funny things that happen. Never a day goes by, either at the office or the Red Cross work-rooms, that something amusing doesn't come up. But by the time I've told it in one letter for Barby to pass on to Father, and in another to make Richard laugh, I haven't the patience to write it all out again here. The consequence is I'm afraid I've given the wrong impression of these last few months. One would think there have been no good times, no good cheer. That it's been all work and grim duty. But such is not the case. My letters will testify to that, and it's only because so much time and energy have gone into them that things have to be crowded into a few brief paragraphs in this book.
Despite all the gruesomeness of war and my separation from my family, I am so busy that I'm really and truly happy from morning till night. I enjoy my work at the office and my work at home and all the kinds of war-work that come my way. It's a satisfaction merely to turn out clean, well-typed pages, but it's bliss unalloyed to know that the money I'm getting for doing it is going to buy bread and bullets to bring about the downfall of the Kaiser.
Sometimes when old Mr. Sammy is feeling especially hopeful and there's nobody in the office but me, he begins to hum an old camp-meeting tune that they sing at his church:
"Coming bye and bye, coming bye and bye!
A better day is dawning, the morning draweth nigh."
I join in with a convincing alto, and afterwards we say what a glorious old world this will be when that day really gets here. "When Johnny comes marching home again, hurrah," the war won and the world made a safe place for everybody. How lovely it will be just to draw a full breath and settle down and live.
At such times it seems such a grand privilege to have even the smallest share in bringing that victory about, that he's all but shouting when we get through talking, and I've accumulated enough enthusiasm to send me through the next week with a whoop. Sometimes if there isn't anything to do right then in the office, I turn from the desk and look out of the window, with eyes that see far beyond the harbor to the happy dawning we've been singing about.
"Lieutenant Richard Moreland Missing"
I see Richard . . . climbing the Green Stairs . . . coming into the little home we furnished together in fancy . . . the little Dream-home where I've spent so many happy hours since. I can see the smile in his dear eyes as he holds his arms out to me . . . having earned the right to make all our dreams come true . . . having fought the good fight . . . and kept the faith . . . that all homes may be safe and sacred everywhere the wide world over. . . .
When one can dream dreams like that, one can put up with "the long, long night of waiting," knowing it will have such a heavenly ending.