my hate, as an individual.  My time is almost up.  I go on duty.  The rain is roaring on the thin roof.  How it rains in this East!  Whole days and nights it pours.  I cannot help but think of my desert hills, always so barren and yellow, with the dust-clouds whirling.  One day of this rain, useless and wasted here, would have saved the Bend crop of wheat.  Nature is almost as inscrutable as God.

Lenore, good-by for this time.  Think of me, but not as lonely or unhappy or uncomfortable out there in the cold, raw, black, wet night.  I will be neither.  Some one—­a spirit—­will keep beside me as I step the beat.  I have put unhappiness behind me.  And no rain or mud or chill will ever feaze me.

    Yours with love,

    Kurt Dorn.

    Camp—­, October—.

    Dear Sister Lenore,—­After that little letter of yours I could do
    nothing more than look up another pin like the one I sent Kathleen. 
    I inclose it.  Hope you will wear it.

    I’m very curious to see what your package contains.  It hasn’t
    arrived yet.  All the mail comes late.  That makes the boys sore.

The weather hasn’t been so wet lately as when I last wrote, but it’s colder.  Believe me these tents are not steam-heated!  But we grin and try to look happy.  It’s not the most cheerful thing to hear the old call in the morning and tumble out in the cold gray dawn.  Say!  I’ve got two blankets now. Two! Just time for mess, then we hike down the road.  I’m in for artillery now, I guess.  The air service really fascinated me, but you can’t have what you want in this business.

Saturday.—­This letter will be in sections.  No use sending you a little dab of news now and then.  I’ll write when I can, and mail when the letter assumes real proportions.  Your package arrived and I was delighted.  I think I slept better last night on your little pillow than any night since we were called out.  My pillow before was your sleeveless jersey.

It’s after three A.M. and I’m on guard—­that is, battery guard, and I have to be up from midnight to reveille, not on a post, but in my tent, so that if any of my men (I’m a corporal now), whom I relieve every two hours, get into trouble they can call me.  Non-coms. go on guard once in six days, so about every sixth night I get along with no sleep.

We have been ordered to do away with all personal property except shaving outfit and absolutely necessary articles.  We can’t keep a foot-locker, trunk, valise, or even an ordinary soap-box in our tents.  Everything must be put in one barrack bag, a canvas sack just like a laundry-bag.

Thank the girls for the silk handkerchief and candy they sent.  I sure have the sweetest sisters of any boy I know.  I never appreciated them when I had them.  I’m learning bitter truths these days.  And tell mother I’ll