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 size, made just to send a thrill through the hearts of the little boys who should wear them! You were wondering why there was such a lack of color, as your eyes fell upon a pile of black sateen ties for the girls, all so carefully made, so neatly pressed and folded, and for a moment you thought only of mourning. Upon inquiry, however, you learned that the children in France had always worn that kind; that bright colors, especially red, were to them the insignia of the devil, and therefore to be avoided. You couldn't wait to look at the garments for older girls (there were none for older boys—they were all in uniform) and for the mothers; you only glanced at the pajamas and the gray and pink day shirts for the men in the hospitals. You, too, must get behind that attractive window, to see what was going on inside. Being a woman, you instantly exclaimed, “What order; what neatness!” There were samples of every garment being made, with women to tell you all about them. Cut garments, all in their proper places, stood ready to be sold to the units. One shelf made you think of those wonderful gardens at Bellaggio, all roses and wistaria and azaleas, and you couldn't think what it contained, until the fascinating cretonnes were shaken out before you, to make your choice for comfort bags. Beyond, a unit was holding its weekly meeting, and fingers were flying, machines singing, while women were discussing, and showing each other, the quickest and neatest way to finish a collar or put in a sleeve.

“Oh, you are so clean here, so orderly,” exclaimed the head of another relief organization. “How do you do it?”