you'd far rather I died than not play the man to the fullest of my
strength. It isn't when you die that matters--it's how. Not but what I
intend to return to Newark and make the house reek of tobacco smoke
before I've done.

We're continually in action now, and the casualty to B. has left us
short-handed--moreover we're helping out another battery which has lost
two officers. As you've seen by the papers, we've at last got the Hun on
the run. Three hundred passed me the other day unescorted, coming in to
give themselves up as prisoners. They're the dirtiest lot you ever set
eyes on, and looked as though they hadn't eaten for months. I wish I
could send you some souvenirs. But we can't send them out of France.

I'm scribbling by candlelight and everything's jumping with the stamping
of the guns. I wear the locket and cross all the time.

Yours with much love,
Con.




XVIII

October 13th, 1916.

DEAR ONES:

I have only time to write and assure you that I am safe. We're living in
trenches at present--I have my sleeping bag placed on a stretcher to