rs to his nephews and nieces which reveal his
attitude both to children and to animals.

From Bonfire to Sergt.-Major Jack Kilgour

August 6th, 1916.

Did you ever have a sore hock? I have one now, and Cruickshank puts
bandages on my leg. He also washed my white socks for me. I am glad you
got my picture. My master is well, and the girls tell me I am looking
well, too. The ones I like best give me biscuits and sugar, and
sometimes flowers. One of them did not want to give me some mignonette
the other day because she said it would make me sick. It did not make me
sick. Another one sends me bags of carrots. If you don't know how to eat
carrots, tops and all, you had better learn, but I suppose you are just
a boy, and do not know how good oats are.

BONFIRE His * Mark.

* Here and later, this mark is that of a horse-shoe. A. L., 1995.

From Bonfire to Sergt.-Major Jack Kilgour

October 1st, 1916.

Dear Jack,

Did you ever eat blackberries? My master and I pick them every day on
the hedges. I like twenty at a time. My leg is better but I have a lump
on my tummy. I went to see my doctor to-day, and he says it is nothing
at all. I have another horse staying in my stable now; he is black, and
about half my size. He does not keep me awake at night. Yours truly,

BONFIRE His * Mark.

From Bonfire to Margaret Kilgour, Civilian

November 5th, 1916.

Dear Margaret:

This is Guy Fox Day! I spell it that way because fox-hunting was my
occupation a long time ago before the war. How are Sergt.-Major Jack and
Corporal David? Ask Jack if he ever bites through his rope at night, and
gets into the oat-box. And as for the Corporal, "I bet you" I can jump
as far as he can. I hear David has lost his red coat. I still have my
grey one, but it is pretty dirty now, for I have not had a new one for
a long time. I got my hair cut a few weeks ago and am to have new boots
next week. Bonneau and Follette send their love. Yours truly,

BONFIRE His * Mark.

In Flanders, April 3rd, 1915.

My dear Margaret:

There is a little girl in this house whose name is Clothilde. She is ten
years old, and calls me "Monsieur le Major". How would you like it if
twenty or thirty soldiers came along and lived in your house and put
their horses in the shed or the stable? There are not many little boys
and