It too was dated—­’Somewhere in France’—­and had been written two days after the letter she had opened in the morning.

’My darling—­we’re having a real jolly time here—­in an old village, far behind the line, and it is said we shall be here for three whole weeks.  Well, some of us really wanted it, for the battalion has been in some very hot fighting lately, and has had a nasty bit of the line to look after for a long time—­with nothing very much to show for it.  My platoon has lost some of its best men, and I’ve been pretty badly hit, as some of them were real chums of mine—­the bravest and dearest fellows.  And I don’t know why, but for the first time, I’ve been feeling rather jumpy and run down.  So I went to a doctor, and he told me I’d better go off duty for a fortnight.  But just then, luckily, the whole battalion was ordered, as I told you a week ago, into what’s called “divisional rest,” so here we are—­for three weeks!  Quite good billets—­an old French farm—­with two good barns and lots of straw for the men, and an actual bedroom for me—­and a real bed—­with sheets! Think of that!  I am as comfortable as possible.  Just at first I’m going to stay in bed for a couple of days to please the doctor—­but then I shall be all right, and shall probably take a course of gymnastics they’re starting here—­odd, isn’t it?—­like putting us to school again!—­so that I may be quite fit before going back to the front.

’One might almost forget the war here, if it weren’t for the rumble of the guns which hardly ever ceases.  They are about thirty-five miles away.  The whole country is quite peaceful, and the crops coming on splendidly.  The farm produces delicious brown eggs—­and you should see—­and taste—­the omelets the farmer’s wife makes!  Coffee too—­first-rate!  How these French women work!  Our men are always helping them, and the children hang round our Tommies like flies.

’These two days in bed are a godsend, for I can read all your letters through again.  There they are—­spread out on my sheet!  By Jove, little woman, you’ve treated me jolly well!  And now I can pay you back a little.  But perhaps you won’t mind, dearest, if I don’t write anything very long, for I expect I ought to take it easy—­for a bit—­I can’t think why I should have felt so slack.  I never knew anything about nerves before.  But the doctor has been very nice and understanding—­a real, decent fellow.  He declares I shall be as fit as a fiddle, long before the three weeks are done.

’My bedroom door is open, and some jolly yellow chickens are wandering in and out.  And sometimes the farmer’s youngest—­a nice little chap of eight—­comes to look at me.  I teach him English—­or I try—­but when I say the English words, he just doubles up with laughing and runs away.  Nelly, my precious—­if I shut my eyes—­I can fancy your little head there—­just inside the door—­and your eyes looking at me!...May the Lord give us good luck—­and may we all be home by Christmas!—­Mind you finish that sketch!’