Soon after that the Jermyns went down to their place in Sussex, and later I heard they'd some convalescent war heroes as guests. Monica wrote me: "All six of them are dear brave darlings, of course, but _one_ of them is _darlinger_ than the others. Tell it not in Gath, dear Blanche, but I think I've met my fate!" Later she wrote: "He's getting on splendidly. He turns out to be a cousin of the Flummerys. He performed _prodigies_ of valour, but won't say a _word_ about it. When he leaves us my heart will quite, _quite_ break--and I sometimes hope _his_ will too!" Yesterday came the following:--"Claude and I belong to each other. And what, oh _what_ do you think helped to lead up to the dear, delicious finale? But wait. My hero is almost quite well now, and this morning, when we took what would have been our _last_ little walk in the grounds, it happened! He walks _beautifully_ now, though he still needs an arm at about the level of _mine_ to lean on. It was a chilly morning and, as I was looking down and trying to think of something to say, I gave a sudden shriek, for on his dear heroic wrists I recognised--_My Mitts_! And when he heard I'd made them he was just as _confondu_ as I was. 'They were in a bale of comfies sent to my company,' he said, 'and I had the ladling out of them to the men. But when I came to these mitts, with the sweet little message pinned to them, I simply couldn't part with them! And to think _you_ made them--and wrote the little message! It makes one believe in all those psychic what-d'-you-call-'ems.' "I felt a crisis was coming and so I said hurriedly, 'Oh, I only wish they were worthier of--of--brave hands and wrists. I'm a wretched knitter--they're full of mistakes--I kept forgetting to keep to the pattern--it ought to have been, "_knit_ two together and _make_ one"--but of course you don't understand knitting.' 'I understand it right enough if _that's_ all there is to it,' he said. "Knit two together and make one." Monica--no, you mustn't run away----' And that's all you're going to be told, Blanche, except that the powers that be have given their consent and I'm too happy for words!" _Et voila mon petit roman de guerre et de tricotage._ My poor Josiah is still at the uttermost edge of beyond. He began to come home, and the boat was chased and ran to an island for shelter, and then the island was taken by one of our enemies and he was a prisoner. Then it was retaken by one of the Allies and he was free again. Since then more things have happened and he's been a prisoner again, and free again. And now he's lost count, and says he doesn't know _what_ he is or _who's_ got the island! Ever thine, BLANCHE. * * * * * Illustration: _Cyclist._ "MANY RECRUITS GONE FROM THIS VILLAGE?" _Shopkeeper._ "NO, SIR." _Cyclist._ "OH, WHY'S THAT?" _Shopkeeper._ "WELL, SIR, AFTER GOING CAREFULLY INTO THE MATTER, WE, IN THIS NEIGHBOURHOOD, DECIDED TO REMAIN ABSOLUTELY NEUTRAL."