dear little Smiles:

This is going to be a very short letter, and can you guess why? Early
next month I am going to run away from my work and everything here, and
hurry down to your mountain for two whole weeks of wonderful vacation.
So the next time you hear from me the words will come from my lips
instead of my pen.

I have been very glad indeed to hear that Big Jerry has been so well
this summer, and I am sure that he has many more years of virile health
ahead of him. I am keenly looking forward to seeing him cut a string
with the new rifle.

The weather has been terribly hot in Boston this month and caused much
suffering, but it is quite cool and very pleasant here by the ocean.

Every night that it is possible, I spend here with my sister's family,
partly because I love to see my little namesake, even for a moment,
partly to escape the city's heat and obtain some really refreshing rest.
It makes me almost ashamed sometimes, when I think how comfortable I am,
and how uncomfortable are the little children in the crowded city, most
of whom have no woods, fields and streams like yours to play in, and
many of whom never see anything out of doors except dirty, paved streets
which get so hot that they burn the feet, even though the fire engine
men frequently send rushing streams of water through them.

But I know that a fighter must always keep in the best possible
condition, and we doctors _and nurses_ have declared war on an enemy who
has killed millions and millions, and never takes a day off.

I wonder how you will like the ocean when you see it. Very much, I am
sure, it is so immensely big--like the sky--so beautiful, and more full
of ever-changing colors than even your mountains.

They tell me that little Muriel plays beside it all day long on the fine
white sand and over the rocks, while baby brother lies near by on a
blanket, kicking and gurgling, and holding long, wordless conversations
with the white clouds and sea birds high overhead.

This has been a much longer letter than I expected it to be, and now I
must chop it off short with just five more words,

Your affectionate friend,
Donald MacDonald.

CHAPTER IX

THE HIGH HILLS, AND "GOD'S MAN"

Sun hath sunk in radiant splendor,
Now the colors fade away
And the moon, with light more tender,
Sheds its silver on the ba