girls left in this part of the country, but occasionally one meets
them on the roads with baskets of eggs or loaves of bread. Most of them
have no homes, for their houses have been burnt by the Germans; but they
do not cry over it. It is dangerous for them, for a shell might hit them
at any time--and it would not be an eggshell, either.

Bonfire is very well. Mother sent him some packets of sugar, and if ever
you saw a big horse excited about a little parcel, it was Bonfire. He
can have only two lumps in any one day, for there is not much of it.
Twice he has had gingerbread and he is very fond of that. It is rather
funny for a soldier-horse, is it not? But soldier horses have a pretty
hard time of it, sometimes, so we do not grudge them a little luxury.
Bonfire's friends are King, and Prince, and Saxonia,--all nice big boys.
If they go away and leave him, he whinnies till he catches sight of
them again, and then he is quite happy. How is the 15th Street Brigade
getting on? Tell Mother I recommend Jack for promotion to corporal if
he has been good. David will have to be a gunner for awhile yet, for
everybody cannot be promoted. Give my love to Katharine, and Jack, and
David.

Your affectionate uncle Jack.

Bonfire, and Bonneau, and little Mike, are all well. Mike is about four
months old and has lost an eye and had a leg broken, but he is a very
good little boy all the same. He is very fond of Bonfire, and Bonneau,
and me. I go to the stable and whistle, and Bonneau and Mike come
running out squealing with joy, to go for a little walk with me. When
Mike comes to steps, he puts his feet on the lowest steps and turns and
looks at me and I lift him up. He is a dear ugly little chap.

The dogs are often to be seen sprawled on the floor of my tent. I like
to have them there for they are very home-like beasts. They never seem
French to me. Bonneau can "donner la patte" in good style nowadays, and
he sometimes curls up inside the rabbit hutch, and the rabbits seem to
like him.

I wish you could see the hundreds of rabbits there are here on the
sand-dunes; there are also many larks and jackdaws. (These are different
from your brother Jack, although they have black faces.) There are
herons, curlews, and even ducks; and the other day I saw four young
weasels in a heap, jumping over each other from side to side as they
ran.

Sir Bertrand Dawson has a lovely little spaniel, Sue, quite black, who
goes around with him. I am