all day, and if there is anything to hear (which I doubt) I do not hear
it.

There is a barge on the canal at Adinkerke which is our only excitement.
It is the property of Maxine Elliott, Lady Drogheda, and Miss Close, and
to go to tea with them is everyone's ambition. The barge is crammed with
things for Belgian refugees, and Maxine told me that the cargo
represents "nearer £10,000 than £5,000." It is piled with flour in
sacks, clothing, medical comforts, etc. The work is good.

I am sending home some long pins like nails. They are called "Silent
Death," and are dropped from German aeroplanes. Boys pick them up and
give them to us in exchange for cigarettes.

[Page Heading: MRS. PERCIVAL'S SLIPPERS]

I want to tell Tabby how immensely pleased everyone is with her
slippers. The men who have stood long in the trenches are in agonies of
frost-bite and rheumatism, and now that I can give them these slippers
when they arrive at the station, they are able to take off their wet
boots caked with mud.

If J. would send me another little packet of groceries I should love it.
Just what can come by post. That Benger's Food of hers nearly saved my
life when I was ill at Dunkirk. What I should like better than anything
is a few good magazines and books. I get _Punch_ and the _Spectator_,
but I want the _English Review_ and the _National_, and perhaps a
_Hibbert_. I enclose ten shillings for these. What is being read?
Stephen Coleridge seems to have brought out an interesting collection,
but I can't remember its name. I wonder if any notice will be taken of