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 depots 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. And all over the country she is continually busy making munitions. As for the myriad nurses in the hospitals here and abroad, who guard the precarious flame of life and dress wounds and cheer the sick--they do nothing new. That has always, been woman's mission. But of course there are countless more nurses than there were two years ago, before the cataclysm. Wherever he sees one of the new citizens, or whenever he hears fresh stories of their address and ability, Mr. Punch is proud and delighted. "It's almost worth having a war," he will say, "to prove what stuff our women are made of." But, always the most chivalrous of men, "Not that it wanted proof," he will add. And then, the other day, finding several representatives of the new citizenship resting in their luncheon hour, Mr. Punch, taking all his courage into his venerable hands, ventured to chat a little with them (for of course he would not dare to interrupt them when they were at work), in order to find out how they would be now filling their time were there none of these novel and pressing War duties. But the remarkable thing is that none of them quite knew. They could not remember. All they were certain of amid the haze was the very distinct conviction that, whatever it was, they would not then have been so happy as they now were.