Thanks very much for your letter. It is now nearly three weeks since it reached me but you will, I am sure, forgive tardiness in replying: those three weeks have been so very full of work. Of course I have no objection to your teaching Vallie a prayer. Why should I have? Only please teach him one thing: that his prayer may not be answered and that if it isn't, he must not think that God is cruel or unmindful. "Thy will be done" is the safety valve in all prayer and a believer in God must surely think--if they do not say--those words as a part of every prayer. In the case of a child I think they should be said. I would be grateful if you would not muddle his little brain with trinitarian dogma. I have nothing against the trinity idea except that it is puzzling and quite unnecessary. It's all right for an artist or a mystic--it can have a symbolic meaning which is most grateful but I think it should not be taught. One can be a lover of God without going into the matters of the definition of Christ; and all such difficulties. If Vallie grows up a poet or a mystic, he will fight into those problems for himself. I would rather he had the chance to do so unguided. If he is going to grow up an engineer or a farmer, he will be no poorer for never having been troubled with them. If I don't come home you may--I mean: _Please will you_--teach him the Sermon on the Mount and "The Lord is my Shepherd" etc., but I have always looked forward to teaching him these myself and still hope to do so--this coming winter too. VIII--LETTER TO HIS SON ON "SWANKING" Vallie you villain what's this I hear about your visit to Brighton? Swanking in the Hotel about having cut the Kaiser into little bits and put him down the dust shoot. _Swank_ Sir, you never did _nothink_ of the sort. He's still bossing Germany and giving us no end of trouble. You must have cut up somebody else by mistake. You really should look before you chop. Bye bye, my darling little man. I love you most muchly much. How do you like me? Your DOODY. IV--LETTER TO HIS DOG--HEART TO HEART July 6th, 1915. MY DEAR EMMA, Do you realise that I haven't written to you _once_ in four months away? Do you? If you don't, I am hurt, if you do and _don't mind realising it_ I am still more hurt. Taken either way you are a heartless little dog and you don't deserve a letter. There is only one hope for you. You may be too proud to enquire with suitable asperity, why I have not written. I leave it to you, _are_ you proud? If so what of? Your ears?--I beg your pardon; I forgot Firstie. Of course you've a right to be proud after all, but I don't see your point. Why should your natural pride in Firstie be too great for you to complain of my remissness. You are illogical Emma, as well as heartless. I don't see what you're getting at.