Out of doors the world is so alive! The warblers are starting to come—so exciting! There are only patches of snow left, although even a week ago I thought it would never melt, and we’d be lucky to see grass in July! The thing is that spring doesn’t come and doesn’t come, and suddenly it is here. All at once. The daffodils are glorious in the lower beds, but it does look as if the mice have eaten most of the tulips. A few tiny shoots are showing, but I planted two hundred. The yellow rose by the porch steps is showing tiny frail green leaves. And the maples are suddenly in flower. Cornelius sits out on the porch wrapped in rugs like a Chinese philosopher, and soon I am going to take him on drives. Eben will help get him in and out of the car. There will be expeditions! The whole world is opening out for this festival of spring—and it seems very poignant to me that we cannot be renewed in the same way. We are old—there’s no help for that.

Yet I feel sorry for the young. Cathy looks pinched. Joel puts pressure on her, I suspect. And soon he will be gone. At the end of the month, he tells me—to the draft. He finally did have the courage to go home and see his family. His stepfather was apparently impressed that he had been working at the store and agreed to let him return here as long as he would come home at once if and when he is drafted. I suspect that it has been in Joel’s mind to take some stand about the war, perhaps even refuse to go and take a jail sentence. But when it comes right down to it, are his convictions firm enough for that? It means five years, Cornelius tells me. No wonder some of the boys have chosen exile.