Let me describe one such "school"--to me a thrilling one, as I saw it on
a clear March afternoon. A year ago no such thing existed. Now each of
our Armies possesses one.
But this letter is already too long!
No. 3
_Easter Eve_, 1917.
DEAR MR. ROOSEVELT,--Since I finished my last letter to you, before the
meeting of Congress, great days have come and gone.
_America is with us!_
At last, we English folk can say that to each other, without reserve or
qualification, and into England's mood of ceaseless effort and anxiety
there has come a sudden relaxation, a breath of something canning and
sustaining. What your action may be--whether it will shorten the war,
and how much, no one here yet knows. But when in some great strain a
friend steps to your side, you don't begin with questions. He is there.
Your cause, your effort, are his. Details will come. Discussion will
come. But there is a breathing space first, in which feeling rests upon
itself before it rushes out in action. Such a breathing space for
England are these Easter days!
Meanwhile, the letters from the Front come in with their new note of
joy.
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