d Arfie and Stacy Marks, and his wife and two pretty daughters, and
I had six kisses--two for Christmas, two for New Year's Day, and two
for Twelfth Night--and everybody was in the best humor with everybody
else. And now my room is ankle deep in unanswered letters, mostly on
business, and I'm going to shovel them up and tie them in a parcel
labeled "Needing particular attention;" and then that will be put into
a cupboard in Oxford, and I shall feel that everything's been done in
a business-like way.

That badger's beautiful. I don't think there's any need for such
beasts as _that_ to turn Christians.

* * * * *

I am indeed most thankful you are well again, though I never looked on
that deafness very seriously; but if you _like_ hearing watches tick,
and boots creak, and plates clatter, so be it to you, for many and
many a year to come. I think I should _so_ like to be deaf, mostly,
not expected to answer anybody in society, never startled by a bang,
never tortured by a railroad whistle, never hearing the nasty cicadas
in Italy, nor a child cry, nor an owl. Nothing but a nice whisper into
my ear, by a pretty girl. Ah well, I'm very glad I can chatter to you
with my weak voice, to my heart's content; and you must come and see
me soon now. All that you say of "Proserpina" is joyful to me. What a
Susie you are, drawing like that! and I'm sure you know Latin better
than I do.

* * * * *

I am better, but not right yet. There is no fear of sore throat, I
think, but some of prolonged tooth worry. It is more stomachic than
coldic, I believe, and those tea cakes are too crisply seductive! What
_can_ it be, that subtle treachery that lurks in tea cakes, and is
wholly absent in the rude honesty of toast?

The metaphysical effect of tea cake last night was, that I had a
perilous and weary journey in a desert, in which I had to dodge
hostile tribes round the corners of pyramids.

A very sad letter from Joanie tells me she was going to Scotland last
night, at which I am not only very sorry but very cross.

A chirping cricket on the hearth advises me to keep my heart up.

* * * * *

Your happy letters (with the sympathetic misery of complaint of dark
days) have cheered me as much as anything could do.

The sight of one of my poor "Companions of St. George," who has sent
me, not a widow's but a parlor-maid's (an old school-mistress)