’If you are wanting a perfeck man, by yourself a statute from the muesum.  Then you can treat him cold and he will not nottice other girls when you leav him for to enjoy yourself.  Mac was not for haveing army when he first seen Maggie, but he was vext at you, and I eggged him on with telling him he was feared, and he took her in a cab becaus it was poring, and maybe he gave her a bit sqeese, I do not no for certin, but it is more like she began it, for Maggie woud rather take a cuddel nor a good dinner anny day.  Likewize there is times when a chap must sqeese something.  It is no dash use for a girl to expeck her intended to keep looking at her when she is not there, unless she makes it worth his while with nice letters and so fourth.  He gets soon fed up on cold nothings.  Mac does not care a roten aple for Maggie, but you left him nothing better, and she is a nice girl and soft with a man, so God forgive you as I will not till I hear you are reddy to kiss him again.  Mac is wounded in 2 places, but not mortle.  He got wounded saveing my life.  I am not wounded yet.  He garded my back, which saved me.  Probly you will see him soon, so prepare to behave yourself.  Remmember you alowed me to kiss you???  Hopping you will take this good advice more kindly nor usual.

  Yours resp. 
    W. THOMSON,
      Lce.  Corp. 9th H.L.I.

P.S.—­If you was less proud and more cuddelsom, you woud not loss much fun in this world.—­W.  T., Lce.  Corp. 9th H.L.I.

* * * * *

Macgregor was in a small hospital not far from London.  While not to be described as serious, his wounds were likely to keep him out of action for several months to come.  He was comfortable, and the people were very kind.  Their English speech puzzled him almost as much as his Scotch amused them.

More tired than pained, he lay idly watching the play of light on his old-fashioned ring, the gift of Mrs. McOstrich.  It had reached him just before he was borne from France, too late, he thought, to bring him luck.  But the only luck he wanted now was Christina.  He had her brief note by heart.  There was kindness but no comfort in the words; forgiveness, maybe, but no promise of reconciliation.  Truly he had made a horrid mess of it; nevertheless he rebelled against taking all the blame.  Christina could not have cared much when she would listen to no explanations. . . .  Now he had a great longing for the touch of his mother and the smile of his father, the soft speech of Jeannie and the eager pipings of wee Jimsie.  Also, he wondered, with a sort of ache, how Willie was faring.

A nurse appeared, sorted his pillow, chatted for a moment, then went and drew down the blinds against the afternoon sun.  And presently Macgregor dropped into a doze.

He awoke to what seemed a dream.  Of all people, Aunt Purdie was seated at his bedside.

In a hesitating way, quite unlike her, she put out her hand, laid it on his and patted gently.