"Well, the only thing I can see that we can do," sighed Mollie, "is to become Red Cross nurses and go across with them." "That probably wouldn't do any good, either," objected Betty, "as far as being with the boys is concerned, because we'd probably be sent to another part of the field entirely, and probably wouldn't see them from the beginning of the war to the end of it. No, I guess we'll just have to keep on knitting for them." "They're going to write to us, anyway," said Mollie. "And we must write to them a good deal, too. They say the boys are just crazy for letters when they're away from home." "Yes, and sometimes girls and women correspond with boys they never saw and never expect to see," added Amy, "just because they haven't any relatives, and it makes it less lonesome for them." "I imagine we'll have all we want to do just to keep up our correspondence with the boys we know," said Betty, knitting steadily. "I think it's wonderful the way practically all of Deepdale has volunteered. It makes you proud to live here." "Yes, and they all seem to be leaving about the same time, too," said Mollie. "Service flags are springing up all over town." "It's terrible," said Amy, with another sigh. "I can't walk along the street and see those flags in the houses of people we've grown up with, without having a funny lump rise in my throat, and I have to hurry past to keep myself from acting foolishly." "I guess none of us really knew we were at war until all the boys we know began to be called away," said Grace seriously. "And I know you girls must all think it's strange--" she paused for a moment as if uncertain just how to proceed, and the girls looked at her in surprise. "I--I'm so worried about Will," Grace continued, not raising her eyes from her knitting. "He hasn't been himself for a month--you girls must have noticed that--and he won't give me any satisfaction at all when I ask him what's the matter. We--he and I--used to be such good friends----" her voice broke and the girls' hearts ached for her, "and now he acts just like a stranger--only asks to be left alone. And he's so moody and queer and silent----" Her voice trailed off and for a long time no one spoke. The girls were troubled, and they longed to give her sympathy. It was hard to know just what to say, for Will had puzzled them all sorely. "I wouldn't worry too much, Gracie, dear," said Betty, at last, going over and sitting down beside her friend. "Will has some problem that he's trying to work out all by himself. We know that he's true blue all the way through, and when he's ready to confide in us, he'll do it. Until then, we've just got to trust him, that's all, and help him all we can by our good faith." Grace's head had dropped on Betty's shoulder and she was crying softly. "B-Betty, you're such a comfort," she murmured as Betty gently stroked her hair. "That was j-just what I w-wanted you to say. I've been so m-miserable."