"Not very," said Winona.
"Well, I admit there's a catch in it I haven't figured out yet, but the facts are right, as far as I've gone. Anyway, here we are, and we got here by fighting, and we'll have to keep on fighting, one way or another, if we're to get any place else."
"I don't know anything about all that," said Winona; "but sometimes I almost think the Germans deserve a good beating."
This was extreme for Winona, the arch pacifist.
"You almost think so, eh? Well, that's a good specimen of almost thinking. Because the Germans don't deserve any such thing unless someone can give it to them. If the bird can swallow the worm the bird deserves the worm. The most of us merely almost think."
It was much later—an age later, it seemed to Winona—for her country, as she wrote in her journal, had crossed the Rubicon—that she went to attend a meeting of protest in a larger city than Newbern; a meeting of mothers and potential mothers who were persuaded that war was never excusable.
She had listened to much impassioned oratory, with a sickening surprise that it should leave her half-hearted in the cause of peace at any price; and she had gone to take her train for home, troubled with a monstrous indecision. Never before had she suffered an instant's bewilderment in detecting right from wrong.
As she waited she had observed on a siding a long, dingy train, from the windows of which looked the faces of boys. She was smitten with a quick curiosity. There were tall boys and short boys; and a few of them were plump, but mostly they were lean, with thin, browned faces, and they were all ominously uniformed. Their keen young faces crowded the open windows of the cars, and they thronged upon the platforms to make noisy purchases from younger boys who offered them pitiful confections from baskets and trays.
Winona stared at them with a sickened wonder. They were all so alive, so alert, so smiling, so eager to be on with the great adventure. In one of the cars a band of them roared a stirring chorus. It stirred Winona beyond the calm that should mark people of the better sort. She forgot that a gentleman should make no noise and that a lady is serene; forgot utterly. She waved a hand—timidly at first—to a cluster of young heads at a car window, and was a little dismayed when they waved heartily in return. She recovered and waved at another group—less timidly this time. Again the response was instant, and a malign power against which she strove in vain carried Winona to the train's side. Heads were thrust forth and greetings followed, some shy and low-toned, some with feigned man-of-the-world jauntiness.
Winona was no longer Winona. A freckled young vender with a basket halted beside her. Winona searched for her purse and emptied its hoard into one gloved hand. Coins spilled from this and ran about the platform. Hands sprang from the window above her to point out their resting places, and half a dozen of the creatures issued from the car to recover them for her. Flustered, eager, pleasantly shocked at her own daring, Winona distributed gifts from the basket, seeing only the hands that came forth to receive them.