n and I play hide-and-seek,
and, as you will know some day, for that game there is no such place as
a steamer, with boats and ventilators and masts and alleyways. Some
day we will play that game hiding behind the rocks and trees and rose
bushes. Every day I watch the sun set, and know that you and your
pretty mother are watching it, too. And all day I think of you both.

Be very good. Do not bump yourself. Do not eat matches. Do not play
with scissors or cats. Do not forget your dad. Sleep when your mother
wishes it. Love us both. Try to know how we love you. THAT you will
never learn. Good-night and God keep you, and bless you.

YOUR DAD.

PARIS, November 1.

DEAREST ONE:

Today is "moving" day, and I feel like ---- censored word, at the
thought of your having the moving to direct and manage by yourself. I
can picture Barney and Burke loading, and unloading, and coal and wood
being stored, and provisions and ice, and finally Hope brought down to
take her third--no--fourth motor ride. And God will see she makes it
all safely, and that in her new house you are comfortable.

Last night I dreamed about Hope and you, a long dream, and it made me
so happy. Something happened today that you will like to hear. When
the war came the French students at the Beaux Arts had to go to fight.
The wives and children had nothing to live on. So, the American
students, about a dozen of them, organized a relief league. The Beaux
Arts is in a most wonderful palace built by Cardinal Richelieu and
decorated later by Napoleon. In this they were gathering socks,
asphyxiating masks, warm clothes. They were hand painting postcards
for fifty cents apiece. The "masters" as they call their teachers,
also were painting them. I gave them some money which was received
politely, but, as it would not go far, without much enthusiasm. As I
was going, I said, "I'll be back tomorrow to get some facts and I'll
write a story about what you're doing." This is the part that is
embarrassing to write, but you will understand. They gave a cheer and
a yell just as though I had said, "Peace is declared" or "I will give
you Carnegie's fortune." And they danced around, and shook hands, and
Whitney Warren, who is at the head of it, all but cried. Later, he
told me the letter I had written for his wife's fund for orphans by the
war had brought in $5000, that was why they were so pleased. So we,
you and I, will try to look at it that wa