P.S. Do you like rabit? I hate it! P.S. Dont ferget to tell that Yanket woman to put what I told you in her pipe and smoke it. 18 rue d'Autancourt, Paris, 18 Feb. 1917. Dear Godfather: How are you? I hope you are no more fatigued. Very sure I will send you the kiss cut out as you say if you prefer. And also I will shake your hand. I will do all things American and all things that make you pleasure. But, dear godfather, you demand that I tell to Madame Yanket to smoke the pipe and I like not to say that because she is one very great lady, very genteel. But Maman say that is only a fashion of talk American and I must not make attention to it. Yes, dear godfather, I like rabbit. When we live in the country we have two, one white and one black, and at the end of time we have 26! But not Welsh rabbits; French. They make not sick like yours. Dear benefactor, I will write you not very long this day, for my great brother Jules come tonight on permission of four days, and I am much occupied to aid Maman arrange all things clean and pretty. I will relate on him in my letter of the week next. I squeeze your hand, and envoy to you the kiss cut out with my heart. Your godchild. A. Leblanc. Greenville Falls. N.Y. Feb, 5, 1917. Deer godchild How are you? It waznt the rabit it is the hoopincoff, I guess I am goin to dye al-rite. J.P.J. 18 rue d'Autancourt, Paris, Feb. 20, 1917. Dear Godfather: Your letter made me to cry. I will permit you not to die. When I get your letter I go and break my tire-lire. It is the little dog of porcelain with one hole in the stomach. Maman give it to me for my fete, the Ste. Andrée, and she give me two sous for put in the hole all the Sundays, and it come out nevermore until it break, you comprehend? I guard[11] the little dog under my pillow and it make bad in my heart to break it, but what will you? My dear godfather who is only one child like me, work strong like a man for make me happy and I would break not my tire-lire for to save him from the death? Oh yes, a thousand times yes! So I take it out in the court and open the stomach with one stone and I make to fall out 26 sous! And I go to the store of objects pious, and I demand one candle of 26 sous or two candles of 13 sous, but the lady say 13 is a number of unhappiness so she give me one of 25 sous, and one sou of paper of lace of gold to put around. And I go quick to the church, and put up the candle to the Ste. Vierge, and she will see it from the sky, and she will see you also in Amerique and make you not to die, M. le Curé see the little flag American that you send me and that I attach to the candle-stick and he caress my head and say: "What for is it?" So I tell him and he say I am very genteel. But all of a hit[12] I melt in tears[13], because I know I am not genteel, dear godfather! I am very, very bad and wicked; I tell not the truth and I conduct not myself well unto you. Perhaps you will pardon me never! I go to confession and M.