"The same, I hope. But what I mean is, the war doesn't really touch us in the routine of our every-day living. _We_ don't have to darken our windows at night and take, every now and then, to the cellars. The machinery of our lives isn't thrown out of gear. We don't live hand in hand with danger. But lots of us think we're killed if we have to use our brains a little, if we're asked to substitute for wheat flour, and can't have thick frosting on our cake and eat meat three times a day. Oh, I've heard 'em talk! Why, our life over here isn't really topsyturvy a bit!" "Isn't it?" There were things, Elliott thought, that Laura, wise as she was, didn't know. "We're inconvenienced," said Laura, "but not hurt." Elliott was silent. She was trying to decide whether or not she was hurt. Inconvenienced seemed rather a slim verb for what had happened to her. But she didn't go on to say what she had meant to say about candy, and she felt in her secret soul the least bit irritated at Laura. Then Priscilla whirled in on her tiptoes, her hands behind her back. "The postman went right straight by, though I hung out the window and called and called. I guess he didn't hear me, he's awful deaf sometimes." "Didn't I get a letter?" Elliott's face fell. "Mail is slow getting through, these days," said Aunt Jessica, coming in from the main kitchen. "We always allow an extra day or two on the road. Wasn't there anything at all from Bob or Sidney or Pete, Pris? You little witch, you certainly are hiding something behind your back." Then Priscilla gave a gay little squeal and jumped up and down till her black curls bobbed all over her face. When she stopped jumping she looked straight at Elliott. "Which hand will you take?" she asked. "I? Oh, have you a letter for me, after all?" "You didn't guess it," said the child. "Which hand?" "The right--no, the left." Priscilla shook her head. "You aren't a very good guesser, are you? But I'll give it to you this time. It's not fat, but it looks nice. He didn't even get out, that postman didn't; he just tucked the letter in the box as he rode along." "Certain sure he didn't tuck any other letter in too, Pris?" queried Laura. The child held out empty hands. "That's no proof. Your eyes are too bright." Laura turned her around gently. "Oh, I thought so! Stuck in your dress. From Bob!" "Two," squealed Priscilla, with an emphatic little hop. "Here, give 'em to Mother. They're 'dressed to her. Now let's get into 'em, quick. Shall I ring the bell, Mother, to call in Father and the rest? Two letters from Bob is a great big emergency; don't you think so?"