When the evening is warm and the moon full I often spend an hour or two on Big Rock; and musing by night, with the water and moon for company, I feel happy and queer and both. Remembrance frequently retenders that night of long ago; and I hear you speaking in a voice no bigger than the heart of a whisper. The reason it is your voice is because you gave me my first doll and what is a little girl’s life without a doll? The night of October twenty-fourth, the night of the day you were wounded, I was out on the rock a long while; and never before had I heard your voice nor seen you as distinctly as then. On that night you and I held quite a conversation; and this may be the mystical explanation why I was the one with you as you passed through the valley of the shadow. Life on Big Creek has taught me, that not alone to the Elijahs, to the shepherds of the hills and to the Jean d’Arcs come voices and visitation. All who will may hear. I knew then that you were snared in the net of tragedy and distress spread over most of the world by this horrible war; which the honest men of every land condemn and regret, as utterly useless and wish at an end. They ask to live in peace and on good terms with everybody. But honest men have nothing to do with making war or dictating terms of peace. They are cannon fodder; mere pawns in the game of nations, moved about by one who sits in the sun and serves the devil. Before the millennium, there must be a world wide charity, to take the place of what we call patriotism; which is either national selfishness or a make-shift provincialism. There must be a development of the national soul until man knows no nation; and in a national sense loves his neighbor as himself. The first step towards it is to understand that those calamities that are destroying an enemy country do not halt at the yellow map boundary that marks our own land. When you escape from beneath the sombre shadow of war, come to our mountains. Here we look at the peaceful face of nature and enjoy the poetry of silence. We are never very much alone, Granny and I. The soul in the radiance of its love creates friends and though we are isolated from the world we are rich in love and happiness. Bear your sufferings and loneliness as best you may, until your ship comes home. Know that to suffer is the dowry of God’s elect and when all else is lost you still have Him. I know He cares for the birds; and “are ye not much better than they?” You know why and when the birds sing?—because they are building or have a nest. May you soon recover, find peace and love; and some day your nook-nest lined with soft down, awaiting treasures God will send. I have tried to put a few thoughts into words. There is enough of the seed of thought in my mind and it germinates—but alas, it dies before I can put it into words. My treasures come forth, half smothered by the burden of the flesh. I hope you may understand what I have tried to tell you.