d my neck, and all the pictures, and the
luck-bringing cat, and the scapular, and the love you give me to keep
me well and bring us soon together. That is the one thing I want. God
bless you both, Hope's dad and your husband.

ATHENS,

November 26th.

DEAR HEART:

I am off tonight for Salonica. I am not very cheerful for I miss you
very, very terribly, and the further I go, the worse I feel. But now I
am nearly as far as I can get, and when you receive this I will--thank
God--be turned back to Paris, and London, and HOME! I thought so often
of you this morning when I took a holiday and climbed the Acropolis.
On the top of it I picked a dandelion for you. It was growing between
the blocks of marble that have been there since 400 years before our
Lord: before St. Paul preached to the Athenians. I was all alone on
the rock, and could see over the AEgean Sea, Corinth, Mount Olympus,
where the Gods used to sit, and the Sphinx lay in wait for travelers
with her famous riddle. It takes two days and one night to go to
Salonica, and the boats are so awful no one undresses but sleeps in his
clothes on top of the bed.

Goodby, sweetheart, and give SUCH a kiss to my precious daughter. How
beautiful she is. Even the waiter who brought me a card stopped to
exclaim about her picture. So, of course, being not at all proud I
showed him her in my arms. I want you both so and I love you both SO.
And, I wanted you so this morning as I always do when there is a
beautiful landscape, or flowers, or palms. I know how you love them.
The dandelion is very modest and I hope the censor won't lose it out,
for she has a long way to go and carries a burden of love. I wish I
was bringing them in the door of the Scribner cottage at this very
minute.

RICHARD.

VOLO, November 27.

I got here today, after the darnedest voyage of two days in a small
steamer. We ran through a snow storm and there was no way to warm the
boat. So, I DIED. You know how cold affects me--well--this was the
coldest cold I ever died of. I poured alcohol in me, and it was like
drinking iced tea. Now, I am on shore in a cafe near a stove. We
continue on to Salonica at midnight. There are 24 men and one woman,
Mrs. Bass, on board. I am much too homesick to write more than to say
I love you, and I miss you and Hope so, that I don't look at the
photos. Did you get the cable I sent Thanksgiving--from Athens, it
read: "Am giving thanks for Hope