He has seen her collecting letters from the pillar-boxes and manfully shouldering the sack.
When he shops she opens his cab door and receives him, and if it is wet she holds an umbrella over him.
In countless Banks and Offices she does the work of clerks, released for the army.
Often he sees her driving a motor-car; often a waggon; often a motor-tricycle delivering goods. In smart leggings, tunic and cap she runs errands.
On flag-days (and they occur now and then) she collects money in the streets hour after hour, no matter how cold or tired she is. At charity matinées (and they, too, have been known to happen) she extracts vast sums of money from the audience for programmes and souvenirs. She sits on a thousand committees connected with War charities and alleviations.
At the canteens, which never shut, day or night, she serves soldiers with hot drinks, cheerfully welcoming them back to old England, or speeding them with equal cheer on their way to the War. Dressed in khaki, she meets soldiers home on leave, leading them to comfortable shelters. Never does she look so masterful as then, for she marches at their head like a real commander.
In Regent's Park you may see her guiding blind soldiers, and on Hampstead Heath Mr. Punch has found her pulling or pushing crippled soldiers in bath-chairs. Elsewhere she reads to them and writes their letters for them, thus helping to beguile the long inactive hours.
In the hospital depôts she makes swabs and bandages by the million, quilts pneumonia jackets, pads the tops of crutches and sandpapers splints.
She has hardened her soft hands, through all weathers and seasons, in the labour of farm and field; grooming horses, tending cattle, guiding the plough, gathering the harvest.