cularly advantageous conditions, and was
naturally most anxious to do so. However, through a misunderstanding
between the syndicate he represented and certain of the newspapers
using its service, he found it advisable, even although against his own
judgment, to go to Greece, and to postpone his visit to the sectors of
the French front he had not already seen. On November 13 he left Paris
bound for Salonica.

On Way to France, Oct. 18, 1915.

DEAREST ONE:

You are much more brave than I am. Anyway, you are much better
behaved. For all the time you were talking I was crying, not with my
eyes only, but with ALL of me. I am so sad. I love you so, and I will
miss you so. I want you to keep saying to yourself all the time, "This
is the most serious effort he ever made, because the chances of seeing
anything are so SMALL, and because never had he such a chance to HELP.
But, all the time, every minute he thinks of me. He wants me. He
misses my voice, my eyes, my presence at his side when he walks or
sleeps. He never loved me so greatly, or at leaving me was so unhappy
as he is now."

Goodby, dear heart. My God-given one! Would it not be wonderful, if
tonight when I am up among the boats on the top deck that girl in the
Pierrot suit, and in her arms Hope, came, and I took them and held them
both? You will walk with her at five, and I will walk and think of you
and love you and long for you.

God keep you, dearest of wives, and mothers.

RICHARD.

October 24.

MY DEAR DAUGHTER:

So many weeks have passed since I saw you that by now you are able to
read this without your mother looking over your shoulder and helping
you with the big words. I have six sets of pictures of you. Every day
I take them down and change them. Those your dear mother put in glass
frames I do not change. Also, I have all the sweet fruits and
chocolates and red bananas. How good of you to think of just the
things your father likes. Some of them I gave to a little boy and
girl. I play with them because soon my daughter will be as big. They
have no mother like you, OF COURSE; they have no mother like YOURS--for
except my mother there never was a mother like yours; so loving, so
tender, so unselfish and thoughtful. If she is reading this, kiss her
for me. These little children have a little father. He dresses them
and bathes them himself. He is afraid of the cold; and sits in the
sun; and coughs and shivers. His childre