How are you coming? I was just up over the hill behind us, getting two wounderful qwortz of golden honey. How is your type mill pumping these days? I got a new story in my bean:--Have an old fisherman that takes those forks and goes after crabs--have him find a pot of pearls instead of crabs.--Think if it is done right it would make a wounder. When will you be out here? We will lead a pack trane over the mountains! Oh, that is the old open road! Pack mules, they mean it to me--a line of mules in the mountains and a couple of saddel horses! That's the life. I hope you have changed your mind about them airaplanes. I do not like the Idea. But, old man, it is for the best, and nothing is a mistake. Take it as it comes. Write soon, and make the pages fly like dust to me. I need all that I can get. Last night was our first bit of rain. Slept in an open window where my face was sprayed all night with the wounderful cold drops of spring. When I got up, I was feeling better than I ever did before. I was all relaxed. I lay a long time just in the wounder of the wounderful free air and rain. I got up and went down and washed in more of the soft rain, and ate and went outside to come down to my work shop. I stood in the wind. Everything around me was so wounderful. All the trees and flowers were brighter. The hills were a little damp. The birds were playing and drinking in the rain. The ray of sun was just coming over the hill. I could almost hear the breathing of the grass and erth. It was like a song, the great song of spring and breathing of the world. That is the way that the new generation will come in after the world is washed and all countries are _one_. A Boy, young and clean, will come in, whistling and breathing a Song of the New Race. YOUR COMRAD. * * * * * ANOTHER WELL, WIFE: Here I am pumping a little more of my vocabulary at you. I think that I will go into the ocean and have a swim. It's dulce on my wounds. What I want to tell you is about an old sea loafer here--a big, black dog. He isn't any kind of a dog--nothing but a world-man-dog, he is. He is a lover of the sea and sand. He goes down with us every day. He is a pal for the road. He can't follow the saddel like Jack, but he can shore be a frend. I have lerned him and he has lerned me. We stick close. Well, pal of the sea and saddel, I am getting awful lonesome, but I am with you all the time. I need your old paw. I shore keep high for the Spring Coming. We will have a shack back in the hills all alone, and drink tea and talk. Don't it sound good? I won't forget it either, not until we have it. We have planned it for many ages, and we will hafto have it--old pal of the moonlight rides. I am close and always your Comrad. 6 VALUES OF LETTER WRITING