The ever-lengthening list of heroic women who have distinguished themselves in this war in Europe is now so many that it is quite impossible even to mention any considerable number of them in less than a very large book. You find their names now in every country quite casually listed along with those of soldiers in the Roll of Honour published in the daily newspapers. And it is no surprise to come on women’s names in any of the lists, “Dead,” “Wounded,” or “Decorated.” The French Academy out of seventy prizes in 1916 awarded no less than forty-seven to women “as most distinguished examples of military courage.” Among these the _Croix de Guerre_ has been given to Madame Macherez, capable citizeness of Soissons, who has been daily at the Mairie in an executive capacity, and to Mlle. Sellier who has been in charge of the Red Cross hospital there during the long months of the bombardment. The Cross of the Legion of Honor along with the cross of Christ decorates the front of the black habit of Sister Julie, the nun of Gerbéviller who held the invading Germans at bay while she stood guard over the wounded French soldiers at her improvised hospital. It’s like this in all of the warring countries. And all of these women with their war jewelery for splendid service, are women like you and me. But yesterday, and they might have been pleased with a string of beads to wind about a white throat. Out of every-day feminine stuff like this shall our war heroines too be made. CHAPTER V THE NEW WAGE ENVELOPE The baby had been fretful all that hot summer day. Every time he was passed over to the eldest little girl, he cried. So Mrs. Lewis had to keep him herself. All the twenty pounds of him rested heavily on her slender left arm while she went about the kitchen getting supper. With one hand she managed now and then to stir the potatoes “warming over” in the pan on the stove. She put the pinch of tea in the pot and set it steeping. And she fried the ham. She set on the table a loaf of bread, still warm from the day’s baking and called to the eldest little girl to bring the butter. “Aren’t we going to have the apple sauce too?” the child asked. “Oh, yes, bring it,” the mother had answered pettishly. “I’m that tired I don’t care how quickly you eat everything up.” You see she had been going around like this with the heavy baby all day while she baked, and there were the three meals to cook. And she had done some of the ironing and there was the kitchen floor that had to be “washed down.” And the second little girl’s dress had to be finished for Sunday. And Jimmie, aged nine, whose food was always disagreeing with him, was in bed with one of his sick spells and called frequently for her to wait on him in the bedroom at the head of the stairs. And she had been up with the baby a good deal anyhow the night before. So you see why Mrs. Lewis was what is called “cross.”