LETTER XXVIII
A RITUAL OF FELLOWSHIP
February
8, 1918.
I have
been waiting for you half an hour, as you sat sewing a seam and thinking of
your friends in France. It warms the heart now to think of France. The tie
between the two great republics is being drawn closer and closer.
Shall I tell you an occult secret? The French mixed their blood
with ours long ago, and we have loved them ever since. We are now mixing our
blood with the blood of France, and France will love us in the days that are
to come.
It is a ritual of fellowship, that mixing of blood. English and
French and Americans and Italians, Irish, Scotch, and all the others. Is
there not a foundation for brotherhood? The blended blood cries from the
ground for love.
I see in the eyes of the French their
feeling for our men as they march by, or help in the little ways to which
American boys are accustomed. Never again will they look upon us as queer
people from beyond the sea.
We have traveled in their country and spent our money and
swaggered and talked through our noses; but now we are living and dying with
them, and we are brothers of mixed blood.
Yes, go back to France when you can. They always loved you
because you loved them, but now you will see that they also love your native
land.
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