railing like a child. We are all proud of him. The doctor who sent him here from Besançon came in the other day to see how he was getting on and he could not believe it when he saw him.

I am almost asleep so I must stop. I made a mistake this morning, got up at half-past four instead of half-past five.

August 15, 1915.

In the face of all the terrible things which are happening one must not worry over little things. I have got to the stage now when I feel as if one should never complain or worry if they have a roof over their heads and enough to eat, and that all one’s efforts should be given to helping others.

I feel perfectly overwhelmed with the letters that ought to be written, but cannot find time to do them. I have been up all night and a couple of days. We got thirty new patients last night. They arrived at 3 a. m. and it was half-past five before we got them to bed. I did not get any of this lot, as my rooms were full. There were not so many wounded,—more sick, rheumatism, bronchitis, etc. One poor man said it was like going directly from hell to heaven; it was the first time he had slept in a bed for a year. Some of them have been wounded for the second time.

It is nearly eleven and I must be up early, so good-night.

August 23, 1915.

Your letter has been long delayed, as they are very strict and holding up the mails again.

We heard this morning that there are French troops guarding the border at Crassier, just half a mile from here. We hear all the Swiss border is to be protected by barbed wire. I do not know what it all means unless it is on account of spies.

We got fifteen more patients last week, one yesterday and one to-day, but as several went away we have still the same number—eighty-four.

We have had a very busy morning. An inspector arrived just as we were ready to operate, and between the two I did not know whether I was on my head or my heels. Thirty of our men will go off on Monday and we will probably get a train full later in the week.

We have a phonograph with a rasping voice that plays from morning to night. The soldiers love it; the poor things are so used to noise that they don’t seem happy without it, but sometimes I feel as if I could scream.

One of the men got a telegram saying his mother was dying; the doctor gave him forty-eight hours leave—all he could possibly do—so he went home and has just got back; could not stay for the funeral, but was so thankful to have been able to see her. If he had been at the front that would not have been possible—only another sad consequence of the war. Another soldier received the news of the death of his little girl.

Miss Todd took me out in her motor the other day. We had a beautiful run over the mountains; the view was magnificent. We took one of the soldiers with us and he enjoyed himself immensely; it was the first time he had ever been in one.

Sunday, August 29, 1915.

It is pouring rain, it is sad to say, as the soldiers are having a little celebration. A band came from Noyon and the Count de Divonne made a speech, two of the men received their Croix de Guerre, the doctor made such a nice little speech to each of them. It was very touching to see the groups of men, some with arms in slings and others with legs and heads bandaged, and some who could not stand at all, still others were in their beds. The decorations were given in the Grand Salle.

I am not sure if all your letters reach me or not, sometimes I get two in a week and then again none for three weeks.

Thirty-three men go off to-morrow, some of them cured and back to the front, some who will never be better, and some to go home on convalescence.

To-day the florist in the village sent a clothes basket full of roses to the Ambulance for the fete. I thought of you and wished you could have some.

September 5, 1915.

Thanks for the money you sent from a friend in your last letter. I will use it wisely and make it go as far as possible. There will be more suffering this winter than there was last, but they are so brave, these people, they seldom complain of anything.

There is a little woman here whose husband was killed. She makes twenty cents a day selling papers and gets ten cents a day pension. She has three children, the eldest a girl of twelve. I got her a good pair of boots the other day and warm underclothes for the other children. She was so grateful.

Don’t worry about me. My expenses are very small, I have not bought any clothes and do not need any this winter.

To-day they had a big concert in the hotel, the proceeds go to the Ambulance.

We have had an awful week of rain and cold, but hope for a little more sunshine to thaw us out.

Our good doctor is going to be married next month. I am so glad, for he lives all alone and needs some one to look after him.

I shall have to go to bed to get warm. There is no heat in this house and when it rains it is like an ice box.

September 11, 1915.

I expect to leave here in two weeks to go to an Ambulance at the front. It is somewhere in the north in Belgium. I think Dr. R—— is sorry to have me leave, but it will be a much larger field and the kind of a place where there will be much to do. They have all been so nice to me here about helping me get my papers ready to send to the Minister of War, so I do not think there will be any difficulty of my getting through. I go to Paris first, then to Dunkirk, where Mrs. T—— will meet me, after that my destination is uncertain. Do not worry if you do not hear from me regularly, for it may be difficult to get mail through. I will write as usual.

I cannot tell you how glad I am to be able to go to the front, for it means a chance to do good work and I shall be so glad to be in the north when B—— comes over and nearer the Canadian boys. Even if I cannot see them I shall not feel so far away.

One of my men to-day got word that his baby, seven months old, had just died and the little girl of two is very ill. He expected to go next week and has been counting the days till he could see them. He has never seen the baby as it was born after the war began—another one of the sad things of this awful war.

Good-night; I am so glad of the chance of active service.

September 16, 1915.

It was awfully good of Miss W—— to send the money to me, it is so much needed here. I expect to get off Monday or Tuesday of next week.