ve. One is what
the old man (an ex-chemist) calls "salicite de metal," and the other is
what the old lady calls a "remede de bonne femme." You rub yourself with
it all over every two hours!

Tick, tick, tick, tick. Lovely! The old clock is rumbling. It is about
to strike twelve.

It has struck twelve--no, not struck twelve, rather it has buzzed
twelve, like some old happy bee.

The hens are still pecking about in the orchard, and the grey pony is
rubbing himself against a tree.

All so cosy and delicious. Now for a doze.

_November 7._

[Sidenote: DOZING]

Here's a poem. It's called

HENS.

At the end of the war
(Ring, bells, merry bells!)
We intend
To keep hens,
Me and Helen.
(Ring, bells!)
Such hens!
(Merry bells!)
And though all our hens' eggs be surrounded by shells,
We shall laugh and not care;
For there won't be no war,
And no hell any more,
While Helen is there
With the hens.

I've just made that up, and the inspiration of so profound an epic has
made me want to doze again. Such a lot of dozing!

_November 12._

In to-day's letter I enclose a couple of field post-cards which I found
on a Boche dug-out bed-hole.

I've been so busy these last days, up till late hours, and writing has
been "na-poo." Leave? Yes, leave will come in time. Probably the first
half of December.

How maddening it is for poor old Tom! It's most damnable hard luck being
kept there without leave such a long time. And I expect that he also
has rather lost interest. At first the men were a great source of
interest, and the horses and everything. Then France and the front were
very interesting. Lastly, being under fire was very interesting. But now
that we are back in Rest, I begin to feel I shall be rather sorry to go
through it again. And Tom has had so much of it. Yes, he ought to come
home.

The cottage people here have those lovely pale salmon winter
chrysanthemums in their gardens. Don't you like them?

Since we arrived in this wee village a week ago, I haven't been on a
horse once, and have never seen anything outside the village itself,
which consists of one street and a side-lane.

_November 14._

I wasn't able to write yesterday, and there may be several blank days to
come.

Roger is temporarily away, and I am in charge. The thing that's
happening is this: A and B are coming dow