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Show of row; Row 4— # K2, P2, yarn over (throw thread as to purl and then once again around needle), knit 2 together, from # to end of row; Rows 5, 6, 7,—K2, P2 to end of row. Change to larger needles, and knit for 18 inches. Change to smaller needles, and repeat rows 1-7. With larger needles, knit 1 inch, bind off. Crochet or sew hood down back; turn front edge back over one inch (from face) and crochet edge. With double thread, crochet cord 30 inches long and run through knit band on hood. Finish ends of cord with tassels. Bibs from outing flannel scraps or oilcloth or cotton print scraps. English Children Receive American Junior Red Cross Garments THE AMERICAN NATIONAL RED CROSS Washington, D. C. ARC 400-11 Rev. July 1941 SEWING FOR REFUGEES The following is an editorial which appeared in the Red Cross Courier. American Red Cross volunteers are making hundreds oj thousands of garments for those who, like this "war mother," are in need of assistance today in Europe's war zones. SHE is my mother. Look well, please, so that if you should come upon her—- plodding down some dusty road, or huddled in a field—you will know this, and do what you can to help. She is beautiful. You see that, don't you? The way she smiles, an indomi¬table shining of courage through bewilderment? And her eyes—holding both hurt and trust, not comprehending why they must look so soon again upon dark horror. Will you not help her, then? They call her refugee, but she is mother first. Those tender hands healed my childist hurts. They helped till the land and make it home. They built security for me with infinite patience, knowing how precious and hard to keep. And now home is shattered, security gone, and she has no one but me, and I am not there. She is so brave, so tired and confused. These few sticks of furniture, smoothed by the loving touch of her fingers, are all that remain. Soon she must leave even this, but she does not know and I hope they will not tell her just yet, for roots go deep. She is waiting for help. For shelter, and food, and reassurance, and a place to rest for a moment. She is waiting in Finland, in Poland, in Holland, in Belgium, in France, in Nonvay, in England. She will sit watching forever, confident that the next striding figure will be mine, so sure that somehow I will know what they have done and come quickly. 1 cannot come today, Mother; I am fighting on the wide plains of France and this is war. Mother, I cannot come at all; yesterday I died in Flanders and so found peace. If perchance you meet her along the endless way she must go alone, will you not reach out your hand? She needs so little. A warm shawl, shoes with¬out holes. A few medicines, perhaps. A safe place to stay where the war thunder is not always. Yet who, Mother, will have strength to whisper, "He is not coming"—and touch your hand in understanding, knowing why you do not cry? . . . She is my mother; she needs me and I am not there. |