We have discovered another attraction to this villa! Out in a very dirty and unattractive-looking hen-yard, which Miss Curtis wanted to investigate, we found a box covered with wire, and with five or six of the dearest little rabbits you ever saw. They are quite tame and allowed us to hold them for a long time, just cuddling down on our necks, all warm and so soft! I am happy now, for I have a pet to play with. I admit that we need a dog, but that does not seem to be practicable just now, so the bunnies will have to do. Luncheon is almost ready, and I plainly see that to be popular I had better stop this noise. I will write you again soon, and tell you more about how perfectly lovely it is here. Until then don't worry about me not having a good rest and a splendid time, for I am. I have already plans as to what a lot more work Rootie and I can do this winter, now that we will be the oldest workers--not in years, but in time. Lots and lots of love to all. You have none of you said whether you liked or even read my letter about going up to the front. I sent it by Ibby with the pictures and relics for Josey. Lots and lots of love from Your daughter, MARJE. XXIII FROM ESTHER Villa Valérie, Val André, Côtes-du-Nord, Sunday morning, August 26. DEAREST FAMILY:-- Last week I let time and the postman creep up on me so that I didn't have time to write, but I hope from my meager notes you have been able to get some sort of an idea of Val André and of our household here. It has been a month of glorious weather, with such clouds and shadows as I never saw before I had a paint-box. The cliffs are high and rounded, covered with gorse, thistles, and other wild flowers. They drop steeply down to a rocky base, and then smooth away in a glorious beach. Val André and the headlands just to the north form a sort of ace of clubs, with beaches in between. The big popular beach, edged by pink and turquoise bathing-houses and high-shouldered stone villas, we shun consistently. In the afternoon it is rather lovely to watch the ever-active little French children, barelegged and nimble, build sand-castles to stand on triumphantly until the incoming tide has flattened out their afternoon's work. The dark-haired bonnes sit in groups on camp-chairs and sew as they gossip, and here and there a deeply veiled mother makes a dark note as she sits quietly in the shade of a brilliantly striped awning.