now and then.  He is awful jealous of the chaps that get things from home; you can tell it by his face and the bad language he uses about the billet and the Zeppelins for 2 hours after.  So just for fun, when I was writing to Uncle Purdie, I said please send the next parcel addressed to Pte.  Wm. Thomson.  Willie got it last night.  He never let on he was pleased, but he was.  He was freer nor I expected him to be with the groceries, but he eat a tin of salmon all by his lone, and in the middle of the night, at 3.15 a.m., he was took horrid bad, and 7 of the chaps made him take their private meddicines, and he could not turn out for physical exercise in the morning, but is now much better, and has made a good tea, and is eating 1 lb. cokernut lozenges at this very minute.

I have no more news.  But, dear Christina, I am not well pleased with your letter at all.  I am quite disconsoled about it.  It makes me feel like wet cold feet that has no hopes of ever getting dry and cosy again.  When I seen yourself last Friday night I was not feared for anything, for you was that kind and soft-hearted, and you laughed that gentle and pretty, and your words did sound sweet even when they was chaffing-like.  But now I am fearing something has gone wrong.  Are you offended?  I did not mean to do so.  Have you got tired of me?  I would think yes at once, if you was the common sort of girl, but you are the honest sort that would tell me straight, and not with hints in a letter.  So if you are not offended, I think you must have catched a cold in your head, or got something wrong with your inside.  Colds in the head is very permanent [? prevalent] in the billet for the present, and the chaps with them are ready to bite your nose off if you say a word to them.

Dear, dear Christina, please tell me what is the matter.  I will not sleep well till I hear from you.  The stew for dinner to-day was better than the stew yesterday, but I could not take my usual.  I am fed up with anxiousness.  Kindly write by return.  Why do you never put any X X X in your letters?  Do you want me to stop putting them in mine?

  Your aff. intended,
    M. Robinson.

P.S.—­It is not to be the Dardanelles, but we are likely going to Flanders next week.  Excuse writing and spelling as usual.  X X X Please write at once.

Christina to Macgregor

DEAR SIR,—­

Your esteemed favour duly to hand and contents noted.  I deeply regret that my last communication did not meet with your unmitigated approval, but oh, dear wee Mac, I could not write a lovey-dovey letter to save my only neck.  In my youth, when penny novels were my sole mental support, I used to see myself pouring forth screeds of beauteous remarks to an adoring swine 6 1/2 ft. high x 2 3/4 ft. broad.  But now it can’t be done.  Still, I am sorry if my letter hurt you.  It was never meant to do that, lad.  You must learn to take my chaff and other