Back on the ship again, sitting on deck in the soft darkness, watching the lights of the town and hearing a faint echo of the life there, I realized with something of a shock that it was Hallow-e’en.  Does that convey nothing to your mind?  To me it brings back memories of cold, fast-shortening days, and myself jumping long-legged over cabbage-stalks in the kitchen-garden, chanting—­

  “This is the nicht o’ Hallow-e’en
  When a’ the witches will be seen—­”

in fearful hope of seeing a witch, not mounted on a broomstick, but on the respectable household cat, changed for that night into a flying fury; finally, along with my brothers, being captured, washed, and dressed, to join with other spirits worse than ourselves in “dooking” for apples and eating mashed potatoes in momentary expectation of swallowing a threepenny-bit or a thimble.  To-night, far from the other spirits, far from the chill winds and the cabbage-stalks, I have been watching the sunset on the desert making the world a glory of rose and gold and amethyst.  Now it is dark; the lights are lit all over the ship; the floor of heaven is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold...

  “In such a night did young Lorenzo ...”

Nov. 2, 11.30 a.m.

Our fellow-passengers derive much amusement from the way we sit and scribble, and one man asked me if I were writing a book!  All this time I haven’t mentioned the Port Said letters.  We got them before we left the ship, and, determined for once to show myself a well-balanced, sensible young person, I took mine to the cabin and locked them firmly in a trunk, telling myself how nice it would be to read them in peace on my return.  The spirit was willing, but—­I found I must rush down to take just a peep to see if everyone was well, and the game ended with me sitting uncomfortably on the knobby edge of Mrs. Albert Murray’s bunk, breathlessly tearing open envelopes.

They were all delightful, and I have read them many times.  I have yours beside me now, and to make it like a real talk I shall answer each point as it comes.

You say the sun hasn’t shone since I left.

Are you by any chance paying me a compliment?  Or are you merely stating a fact?  As Pet Marjorie would say, I am primmed up with majestic pride because of the compliments I receive.  One lady, whose baby I held for a little this morning, told me I had such a sweet, unspoiled disposition!  But what really pleased me and made me feel inches taller was that Captain Gordon told someone who told me that he thought I had great stability of character.  It is odd how one loves to be told one has what one hasn’t!  I, who have no more stability of character than a pussy-cat, felt warm with gratitude.  Only—­I should like to make my exit now before he discovers how mistaken he is!

Yes, I wish you were sitting by my side racing through the waves.  Indeed, I wish all my dear people were here.